Black Moon Creeping
by Bluenose
Summary: Needing a break from L.A., Michelle discovers that terrorism and intrigue are not confined to a big city. Title is provided by The Black Crowes. COMPLETE!
1. Default Chapter

Chapter One  
  
It was so damn hot on the bus.  
  
He shifted irritably, feeling his clothes stick both to him and his seat. He wiped sweat away from his brow, glancing at his open window. Wondering if there was any way to force it wider.  
  
The desert raced past alongside the bus. Nothing but mile after mile of sand and sun blasted rock and the strip of road, inching its way through the heat.  
  
Empty, desolate, barren.  
  
He hadn't seen another car or bus, even one travelling in the opposite direction, in hours.  
  
He shivered, in spite of the dry furnace the bus had become. Dragged his eyes away from the window, forced himself to do his job.  
  
He had to concentrate on her. Too much depended on this. Too much and too many lives.  
  
He caught another glimpse of the desert out of the corner of his eye. Another glimpse of rocks and sand stained red by the sun.  
  
Stained blood red.  
  
He shivered again and pulled the blind down over his window, the sudden sound ripping loudly through the mostly silent bus. Not that any of the other passengers seemed to notice, stricken senseless by the heat. They slumped in their seats, fanning themselves with hats and magazines, staring longingly at the fan on the ceiling, moving too slowly to do anything other than create an illusion of air conditioning.  
  
She remained alert though.  
  
He could see her, sitting close to the front of the bus. Still sitting upright, alert in her seat. Watching the horizon rush closer and closer to them, as if she were eager to reach her destination.  
  
He wondered if she was as affected by the heat as he was. Wondered too, what she saw when she looked out of the window.  
  
He had been following her for days.  
  
She knew someone was on her trail. Had done her level best to give him the slip. She'd nearly succeeded, as well. Except he'd got lucky and managed to stick with her, to hold on to her trail. He'd been following her for days.  
  
What the hell was bringing her all the way out here?  
  
Michelle climbed the stairs to Tony's office. She hesitated outside his door, rehearsing what she was going to say. She glanced around CTU, looking for an excuse, any excuse, to put this off.  
  
'This is ridiculous'. Refusing to allow herself to think any more, she knocked on the door.  
  
Tony was on the phone. He looked up at the sound, smiled when he saw her, and signalled for her to come in.  
  
Michelle pushed the door open and closed in gently behind her. She leaned against it, waiting for him to finish.  
  
"We're nearly back up to speed. Yes, I know nearly is not good enough, sir, but given the size of the explosion and the losses we took, I think we're in pretty good shape." Tony looked up at her and rolled his eyes. "When? I think we should be back operating at full capacity within a month. Thank you, sir." He hung up the phone. "God save me from fucking bureaucrats!"  
  
"Problems?"  
  
"Not really. Just assholes at Division wanting to see why we're not back to speed yet. It hasn't been that long since the building was blown to shit around us." He took a deep breath, blowing away his frustration. "Anyway. You wanted to see me?"  
  
Now that she was here, she could think of so many reasons to walk away. There was so much to do, so few of them to do it. Tony looked exhausted, and Jack was still on injured reserve. It wasn't fair to leave everything to him. She couldn't leave everything to him.  
  
"It doesn't matter, Tony." She turned around and started to walk to the door.  
  
"Michelle..."  
  
She stopped with her hand on the door. "Yeah?"  
  
"You okay?" He took a step closer to her, and another, closing the gap between them. He could almost smell her perfume, just tantalising his senses. "I mean, after everything? Because if you need some time or..."  
  
She seized the opportunity he gave her. "I need some time off, Tony."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"I know this is a bad time, and if you need me here, then that's okay, I'll stay. I just...I need a break Tony." She looked downstairs office, still marred by the rubble caused by the explosion. "I just need some time to get my head straightened out."  
  
"Is this because of us? Because of me?"  
  
"What? No!" She touched his hand, and he wrapped his fingers through hers, as much contact as they dared within the confines of CTU. "I just need to get away for a bit, take some time..."  
  
"Where are you gonna go?"  
  
She shook here head. "I don't know yet. I'm just going to go where the road takes me, get away from LA for a bit."  
  
He still hadn't released her hand. "How long do you think you'll be gone for?"  
  
"Three weeks. Shit." He shifted his grip, pulling her towards him, putting his arms around her, not seeming to care who saw them. She stiffened initially, then relaxed in his embrace. "I'm going to miss you."  
  
Inspiration struck her. "You could come with me, you know."  
  
He though about if, then shook his head. "I can't. With Jack out... Anyway, someone has to try and keep Chapelle under control." He kissed her slowly, trying to forget about the world outside of his office for just another moment.  
  
He released her reluctantly. "Go on, get out of here. I'll see you in three weeks."  
  
"Thanks Tony."  
  
"Michelle? Have a great time."  
  
She smiled at him as she left the office, and he held on to the image of her smile for as long as he could.  
  
It was going to be a long three weeks without her.  
  
Two hours later, she drove north from LA, the top down, the stereo blasting. Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. It had been a long time since her last vacation.  
  
She was looking forward to this so much.  
  
"Just tell him that unless he changes his policy, I'm going to keep trimming his bills as they come through my legislature." He listened intently. "I don't care how many votes they bring, or how many votes I'm risking. The things those people are doing are utterly inhumane, and I cannot, in conscience, support them, or offer support to those who are supporting them. Well I'm sorry you feel that way." He hung up the phone and handed it to the woman facing him in the back seat of the limo. "No more calls, please Jennifer."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"I just want a nice, relaxing, vacation." He settled back into the plush seat of the car, lifting his scotch from the drinks holder it had been carefully wedged into. "Especially after recent events."  
  
The phone beeped again. He groaned and hid his face in his hands. Jennifer smiled at his response and answered the phone. "One moment please." She pressed the silence button. "It's your wife, sir."  
  
He groaned again and took the phone from her. "Yes dear? I'm on my way now, just a few..."  
  
"When does he get here?"  
  
"Tomorrow"  
  
"Is everything set?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Is there...anything you need me to do?"  
  
"Just watch and learn, my friend. Just watch and learn."  
  
"Thank you." Michelle handed the bell boy a $20 bill and waited until he left the room before sinking down on the bed. She about just crawling into it, but decided on a drink first. She walked over to the mini bar and poured herself a glass of wine, holding some ice to the back of her neck. She glanced at the phone and snatched it from the cradle, dialling hastily.  
  
It rang once. "Almeida."  
  
"Hi Tony, just me."  
  
His voice became instantly more alert. "Hey Michelle. Where are you?"  
  
"A place called Nixon, it's in Nevada. Scenery is really something, Tony, really spectacular."  
  
"Maybe we'll get to go there together some day." His voice wistful.  
  
"I hope so. Listen Tony, I'd better go. I've been driving for the past couple of days, I'm pretty beat."  
  
"Night, Michelle. I miss you already."  
  
She smiled at his tone. "Night Tony."  
  
The receiver fell silent and she stared at it a moment before hanging up.  
  
The End of Chapter One. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two  
  
Nicholas watched him arrive.  
  
Watched the cavalcade of cars through powerful binoculars. Watched them speed down the thin ribbon of the desert road, fine clouds of dust and sand kicked up by the wheels. Marking their progress through the haze of dust and heat, making sure there were no sudden changes or alterations to the plan.  
  
He lowered the binoculars and glanced at his watch.  
  
Early afternoon. Right on time. Shit, the girl was good.  
  
He put the binoculars away and kicked the motorbike into gear.  
  
Things were starting to fall into place.  
  
"Have you done this before?"  
  
The heat of the day had faded into another chill desert night. He looked around before he spoke softly into her ear, his breath tickling her flesh. He couldn't see any guards about, but sound carried strangely through the desert at night, especially clear nights.  
  
She nodded, the movement barely visible in the gloom. "A few times. It worked well for us, for a while. Until the local police got wise to what we were doing. Wait." She stopped him with a gloved hand, both of them falling silent as a pair of armed guards drifted past, talking quietly amongst themselves. She waited until they were out of earshot before releasing her breath, the sound sudden and loud through the stillness. "Your police, now they've never dealt with a threat like this."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Sophisticated low tech. If you don't use nukes or chemicals or anything..." she waved her hand in the air. "Fancy, you can stay below the agency radar. I reckon you'll get three, maybe four full operations out of this, not counting this one, before they get wise to you." She shrugged. "After that, you'll need to change tactics."  
  
They stopped outside the garage, crouching low next to the door. She kept careful watch around them as he started to work on the lock. A simple turn and twist, and the lock opened. She slipped through the door, and he followed after her, closing the door quietly after them.  
  
"Which car is his?"  
  
She barely breathed the question, but it still seemed to echo loudly in the quiet room.  
  
Her companion pointed at a large car. Powerful and black, the windows gleaming darkly in the torchlight. "That one."  
  
She walked around it, examining it from all angles. "Nice."  
  
"Armour plating, bullet proof windows. All the usual protective shit, paid for by the good people he's supposed to represent." He spat on the ground. "He gets all this, we're fucking dying back home and he does nothing but hinder us."  
  
She ignored his rant. "Pop the hood." She took her bag off, setting it carefully on the floor. She stifled the sound of the release and propped it open, before unzipping her bag, staring at the contents. She was dimly aware that he had gotten out of the car and was standing by her shoulder, straining to see. She was reminded of her youngest brother one Christmas, so curious and enthusiastic.  
  
So much time, so many years. So much blood.  
  
She sighed and shook away her dark thoughts. Reached into her bag for tools. She would finish this and then go and see Niall. She had put it off for too long. He would be missing her. "We dealt with this sort of armour a lot back home."  
  
"Does it make a difference?"  
  
"Only with the placement. Normally you just put it under the car." She lifted a piece of equipment out of her bag. "But with this, you need to use the engine. Gives it a little extra kick. The heat'll help as well." She leaned over the engine, placing it carefully in the cavity. Then she laid down on her back and slid under the car, fixing another in the wheel arch. She smiled when she slid from under the car and saw his confused look. "Trust me."  
  
He shrugged. "What about detonation?"  
  
"Radio controlled." She wiped her hands and walked back to the engine. "Those two wires give us a little extra push on the signal. You can be miles away and still set them off." She finished tightening the connections. "Come on lets get out of here."  
  
Force of habit woke Michelle at her normal time, the sun just beginning to kiss the horizon. She nearly jumped out bed, nearly ran for the shower, nearly started to get dressed for work.  
  
Then she remembered. She rolled over, away from the window. Kicking the light sheet away from her. It was already hot in Nevada.  
  
She thought, briefly about getting up anyway, since she was already awake. Thought briefly about LA and her colleagues.  
  
Then sleep overtook her again.  
  
"Morning Tony."  
  
"Morning Ryan." Tony stopped at CTU's main entrance, letting his boss catch up with him. "I didn't expect you to be here today." This was just one more thing he could have done without.  
  
"Division sent me down. They want a report on how the rebuilding work is going." Both Chapelle and Tony showed their passes to the guard on duty and walked on through the building. "They want to know why it's taking you so long to get back on track."  
  
"We lost a lot of good people Ryan."  
  
"I know you did, Tony, but this is an important office for us." He glanced at his watch. "I want a full briefing from you and Michelle on my desk by 10am at the latest." He looked around the office, at the early shift arriving, firing up workstations. "Where is Michelle anyway? I thought she started at the same time as you."  
  
'Oh fuck. Here it comes.' "She's on leave Ryan."  
  
"She's on leave?" Chapelle's eyebrows rose into his disappearing hairline. "With Jack out? Who made that decision?"  
  
"I did."  
  
"We're short staffed as it is, and you've let her go on holidays? Jesus Christ, Tony, we needed her here!"  
  
"She needed a break Ryan. You know, like you and Carrie got after the nuclear threat?"  
  
Chapelle opened his mouth and shut it with an audible click. "Just have that report on my desk by ten, Tony."  
  
They were certainly being brazen.  
  
Meeting in the open. Talking together. Taking very few precautions, mocking the locals. Mocking him, mocking their victims, the people that had suffered because of her, and her actions. People that had been killed or crippled, just because they were doing their job.  
  
He shifted in his seat, lifting his drink, the ice long since melted. It was even hotter than it had been on the bus, the heat an almost physical presence, brooding and malignant across his shoulders. He was starting to miss the rain.  
  
She didn't seem to have any problem with the heat. But then, her conscience never had been much of a problem.  
  
Keeping his eyes on them, he pulled out his camera and took a discrete photo of the two. She was fucking cunning, he'd give her that. Anybody that didn't know her, what she was capable of would have thought they were just another couple on holidays together.  
  
He lifted his phone and dialled quickly. "Put me through to Bailie."  
  
The line clicked twice as he passed through the exchanges. "Bailie here."  
  
"It's Michael. She's here and has made contact with an unidentified male, approximately 25. I'm sending you a photo. I need confirmation that it is actually her and I need an identity for him."  
  
"What's she up to out there?"  
  
"No fucking idea." He fought to bring his temper back under control. "Yet. Whatever she's doing she feels safe. The locals don't have a fucking clue."  
  
It had grown hotter.  
  
Michelle walked down the main street, enjoying the occasional shade cast by the trees lining the side of the road. Nixon was so different from LA, smaller, quieter, beautiful, slower, peaceful. Like the heat had burnt all the bloodlust and the wickedness away.  
  
She sat down outside a café, sitting at a table beneath an overhanging branch, and ordered a cold drink.  
  
This was so different from LA, from her life in LA.  
  
She smiled bitterly. Assuming of course, she even had a life in LA, apart from work. She took a mouthful of the drink, feeling its chill spread through her. There was Tony, of course, to keep her sane, to make her smile when she thought of him.  
  
She missed him, wished that he was with her. Wished that he was there to hold her, to fall asleep with her. Just to be there with her. She was almost looking forward to her return, just so she could talk to him.  
  
Work was going to be difficult, though.  
  
Could they cope with working together and sleeping together? How long before one or other of them got assigned somewhere else? How long before CTU happened to them?  
  
How long before...  
  
She jumped when her cell phone rang. She stared at it for a second, then snatched it up. "Hello?"  
  
"You know, you really should turn that thing off."  
  
She smiled at the smile she guessed was on his face. "I know, but I like to stay in touch. How are things going back there?"  
  
"Michelle, you're on holidays. Relax. There's nothing going on here that we cant handle. I just wanted to talk to you."  
  
She smiled, biting at her lip. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah, I just missed hearing your voice. Anyway, I'll go and I'll stop bothering you. Oh and Michelle? Turn the damn phone off!"  
  
She laughed. "I will Tony. Bye." She stared at the phone for a moment longer, running the conversation through in her head. He'd missed her, he'd said that. That he'd just wanted to talk to her.  
  
She looked around the café, slowly starting to fill with customers, the sounds of their conversation filling the silence that had surrounded her. She glanced back at the phone and smiled.  
  
Slowly, deliberately, she turned the phone off.  
  
"This is so weird."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"This. Working with you. This whole...." He paused, wiping sweat from his forehead. "This is going to work isn't it? You know what you're doing, right?"  
  
"Of course I know what I'm doing." She lit a cigarette, ignoring the disgusted looks of the people around her. "Everything is set. It'll work just the way we've planned it." She patted her hip pocket. "Everything is going to be fine."  
  
"You think they'll get the message." He jerked his head away from the pale stream of smoke. "You think they'll start taking us seriously?"  
  
"Oh they'll get the message. Sooner or later. Don't you worry about that."  
  
It felt strange to have her phone off. Almost like she'd cut herself off, turned away from the Michelle Dessler she was in LA. It felt good, though. She felt free.  
  
She finished her drink and fumbled in her purse, leaving enough money to cover the drink. She stood, pulling her shades down over her eyes, taking another long look at her now dormant cell phone. She tucked it away in her bag, burying it as deep as she could.  
  
She didn't have to be that Michelle Dessler. She could be anybody she wanted to be.  
  
Swinging her bag by the straps, she walked down the street, singing to herself.  
  
She glanced back over her shoulder at the sound of a powerful engine, shattering the peace and stillness of the main street. Staring into the bright sun, squinting behind her shades, she saw three cars, driving down the street. Three large black powerful cars, the bullet proofed windows seeming to suck the light away. 'Government cars' her brain realised.  
  
The man next to her spat on the ground, his weather stained features twisted with hate. "Bastard." He spat again.  
  
She could see other knots of people gathering on the street, the same expressions of hatred on their worn and tired faces.  
  
She turned to the man next to her. "Excuse me sir, but who is that?" She pointed at the cars.  
  
The man squinted at her, his dark eyes narrowing. "You're not from around here, are you."  
  
"No I'm from LA."  
  
"You a tourist?"  
  
"Yes." She was starting to feel like she had committed a crime, that she should be in a holding cell or an interrogation room.  
  
He pointed after the cars, his hand shaking with anger and his face twisting further with hatred. "That's the Governor. Charles H McGarrity. Comes up here during the summer, pollutes the waters of Pyramid Lake with his lies." He spat on the ground. "Bastard."  
  
Michelle opened her mouth to reply....  
  
....an explosion ripped through the street.  
  
She spun around to see the middle vehicle, burning fiercely, tossed in the air like some child's toy. It landed, almost gracefully, on its back. The following vehicle skidded to a halt next to it. The passenger door flew open and a man jumped out, pulling a pistol from a holster on his hip. He stopped next to the burning car, his eyes scanning the wreckage, looking for some way to safely approach it.  
  
Michelle started to run towards him. "Wait! It's...."  
  
A second explosion tore through both vehicles. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three  
  
The cars were burning fiercely, the sound of flames, the moans of the injured and the dying, achingly loud through the town, shocked into silence by the violence of the explosion.  
  
Michelle lurched to her feet, staggering as she tried to catch her balance. She felt something trickle down the side of her face, and brought her hand up to touch it. Her fingers came away crimson, stained with her own blood. She stared at them for a second, pain knifing through her, then raised her gaze to the street.  
  
It was littered with bodies.  
  
Memories of another explosion, of more bodies lying twisted and broken lanced through her, followed by another flash of pain. She pressed her hands against her ears, ignoring the blood seeping through her hair. Trying to blot out the screams.  
  
She could still hear them. Their pleas for help, for mercy.  
  
She kept her eyes on the burning cars, stumbling down the street, trying to ignore the pain stabbing through her body. Michelle gritted her teeth, forcing herself to take slow aching step after step. There could still be people alive in that mess.  
  
The flames grew hotter, burning against her skin, the sound and smell dominating her senses. She realised she could hear sirens, growing louder as the vehicles raced closer to the scene.  
  
And still the cars burned. Still people died.  
  
Gathering her courage, Michelle took another step towards the wreckage. Wondering how she was going to open the door. How she was going to get any survivors out of there.  
  
"Ma'am? Ma'am, please!"  
  
She felt arms around her waist, dragging her away from the scene. The sudden violent motion caught her off balance and she stumbled, adding another twist of pain to her aching body.  
  
"You'll have to stay back, ma'am." His eyes were still focused on the wreckage. "It's not safe."  
  
She glanced at her rescuer, a young man in a sheriff's uniform. "There could still be people alive in there!"  
  
A fire engine skidded to a halt, its crew leaping down to attack the smouldering ruin. They were soon sweating against the heat of the cars and the sun.  
  
He kept a tight grip around her waist, as she struggled to free herself to help the fire crews. "There's nothin' alive in there ma'am. If the crash didn't get them, then the fuel tank goin' up did."  
  
Her eyes slipped close as he spoke, his words seeming to weave and echo around her ears before she could make sense of them. "It wasn't a crash." Even her voice seemed faint.  
  
"Ma'am? Ma'am are you okay? Did you see what happened?"  
  
"I....I think...I hurt my head." She pressed her hands against her forehead. So hot. It was so hot." "I saw...the car explode."  
  
He raised his voice. "Laura? Laura get over here!" He waited until another deputy ran over to them. "I have a witness here Laura. Will you take her to see Ben and make sure she gets some treatment for that cut, will ya? They might need to give her some fluids as well. She's a little woozy."  
  
"Sure Peter." Michelle felt gloved hands take her elbow. "This way please, ma'am."  
  
"Where are you taking me?" She didn't fight against the motion. She didn't have the strength left.  
  
"Some place we can get you cleaned up. Then you can see the Sheriff."  
  
He was almost shaking with excitement. "We've sent a message, haven't we?"  
  
She lit a cigarette, guiding him away from the developing chaos, from the gathering crowds, concentrating on their escape. It would harm both their causes if they got arrested now.  
  
At least he had the sense to keep his voice down. "How can they ignore us now?"  
  
She looked around, making sure they were alone. "Because it might suit them to blame somebody else."  
  
That took some of the wind from his sails, killed some of his enthusiasm. "Oh." He thought for a second. "How can we make sure that we get the credit for it?"  
  
He still believed. Still believed in his cause.  
  
"Another attack." She took a last drag from her cigarette and flicked the butt away. "We hit them while they're still hurt. Before they have the chance to heal. Before they have the chance to forget about this."  
  
"When? Who?"  
  
"Not yet." She reached for another cigarette and fought off the craving. "We let them think about this, count the cost and the bodies. Then we hit them again with a second wave."  
  
"How long do we give them?"  
  
She hesitated. Was that screams she could hear? Or just another memory? "A few days. We'll give them a few days."  
  
There had been more survivors than she had thought. More than she had dared hope for when she had seen the carnage on the main street.  
  
Too many for such a small town, though.  
  
She couldn't shake the guilt. Couldn't shake the feeling that she was responsible for this, that somehow she was to blame for all these deaths.  
  
She felt the room slip and weave, the lights dancing, twisting, spiralling around her. She closed her eyes. Feeling herself slip away, her body still throbbing with pain.  
  
"Easy, ma'am." She felt strong hands steady her, help her to a seat. "Just rest there for a second. Chris? Chris can I get a hand here?"  
  
Gauze was pressed against the wound on her head and then a gloved hand gave her something to drink, wonderfully cool and soothing. Easing her smoke scarred throat, driving the pain away.  
  
Slowly, reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Thankfully, the room behaved itself this time, staying in it's proper place.  
  
A tall man, dark haired, dressed in the same white shirted uniform, sat down facing her. He flicked open a notepad, laying it across his knee, holding his pen poised above it. "My name's Ben Franklin. I'm the Sheriff. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"  
  
"No, ask away."  
  
"What's your name, ma'am?"  
  
"Michelle Dessler." She watched as his pen flashed across the page of his notebook. "I'm here on vacation."  
  
He flicked back through the pages. "You told Deputy Blackthorne that you saw the crash."  
  
"It wasn't a crash, Sheriff. The middle car was tossed in the air, and it triggered a second explosion." She swayed a little in her seat. "Could I have a drink of water please?"  
  
"Certainly Ms Dessler." The clunk of ice cubes in the glass as he handed it to her sounded so tantalising and she drank it with greedy sips. He sat back down facing her, making another note. "Are you okay to continue?"  
  
The flash of concern in his eyes, the compassion in his voice, caught her, reminded her forcibly of Tony. "No I'm okay. Thank you Sheriff." She looked around the makeshift infirmary. "There's a lot here in worse shape than I am."  
  
She had gotten off lightly. Again.  
  
Memories and faces threatened to rise up, to invade again, to overwhelm her. She shook her head, forcing them away, back to where she had buried them. Forcing herself to pay attention to what the Sheriff was saying.  
  
"We're not used to things like this up here, that's for sure." He nodded at two deputies, sitting ashen faced near the door, passing a hip flask between them. "Might get that type of shit in the cities, but not up here."  
  
His voice trailed away and he stared blindly at his notebook. He leaned back and the faltering sunlight caught his wedding ring. The sudden flaring of light jerked them both from their thoughts.  
  
He cleared his throat. "Anyway, Ms Dessler, you said that that the middle car was tossed in the air. You any idea what would do that?"  
  
"A bomb."  
  
"A bomb?  
  
Michelle nodded. "I worked in CTU in Los Angeles, Sheriff. Believe me, I've seen what powerful bombs can do. They wouldn't have had to be anywhere near the blast site to detonate it."  
  
"Shit." Sweat trickled down Ben Franklin's suddenly pale face. "Any idea who would want to carry out somethin' like this?"  
  
She shook her head, trying to forget that the motion made her head want to fall from her shoulders. "I don't know Sheriff." She rubbed at her eyes, trying to hold back a sudden rush of tears. "I don't know, maybe it was just an accident. I just...I don't know." Her stomach lurched and she could taste bile at the back of her throat.  
  
His radio flared suddenly to life and he spoke quietly into it. Not that Michelle could concentrate on his conversation. It was taking all her strength, all her willpower to stop herself being sick.  
  
"I have to get back to the scene." He helped her to her feet. "I'll walk you back to your hotel."  
  
"...unconfirmed reports are coming in...."  
  
"...Governor of Nevada..."  
  
"....explosion...."  
  
"...shots fired..."  
  
"....assassination..."  
  
"...unconfirmed rumours of casualties...."  
  
"...fatalities..."  
  
"Come on Sam, just let me take one photo." He gestured with his camera. "For the grandkids. I'll even take one of you in front of that bastards car, you could have it blown up, put it up on the wall of your big room." The people around him groaned and then laughed at his joke.  
  
"I'd better not, Hawk. Sheriff Franklin would have my badge." The deputy glanced around at another younger, braver group of locals, edging closer to the wreckage. "Hey you cant..."  
  
One of them reached out his hand and jerked it back with a curse. As soon as the deputy's back was turned, he heard the tell tale hiss and whirl of a camera. He spun back around to see Hawk's grinning face, mostly obscured by the camera.  
  
He watched the shutter close in slow motion.  
  
The Sheriff's car pulled up, close to the still smouldering wreckage. Sheriff Franklin and another deputy got out of the car.  
  
Franklin pointed at Hawk, still clutching his camera, still smiling. "If you aren't out of my sight in the next thirty seconds Hawk, you're going to be spending tonight in jail."  
  
Hawk disappeared like he'd just grown wings.  
  
Franklin planted his hands on his hips. "Alright folks. You all know what happened here. Show a little respect."  
  
Angry murmurs started to grow after his words.  
  
His own temper growing, he leaned forward at the biggest group of scavengers. "And if that don't work for you, this is a crime scene. Beat it before I arrest you for tampering with evidence."  
  
Reluctantly, the crowd departed.  
  
His eyes tracked them easily. The only people in Nixon not caught up in the carnage and growing chaos. He watched them leave the scene, drifting easily through the crowd.  
  
Why was he still surprised that she could be so callous, so cruel?  
  
He followed them through Nixon. Ignoring the shouts of his conscience, battling through the almost physical heat. Followed them to the place they had stayed the night before.  
  
He stayed outside. Waiting. Watching. Waiting for them to run.  
  
He watched them. The only people in Nixon not shocked or stunned by the attack.  
  
She hadn't run.  
  
What else had she planned? 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four  
  
The sun woke her again.  
  
She had lain awake most of the night, frightened to sleep, jerking awake every time she felt herself slip away. Pain and painkillers had eventually taken its toll and she had fallen into an exhausted sleep.  
  
She rolled over in bed. Wincing as all of yesterdays aches and pains fought to lay their hands on her. The sun pounding through her window added to her headache. The room was hot and stuffy already. Pressing in around her, closing in...  
  
Michelle walked across her room. She switched on the air conditioning and sat down waiting for the room to cool enough for her to think. Stuffy heat always made her feel sick and drowsy. She reached behind her and switched the air conditioning as high as it would go.  
  
She sighed, feeling the room start to chill around her, the pressure on her head easing. She leaned back, resting her head against the wall.  
  
She closed her eyes. Running through the incident in her mind. Making sure she had everything in its right place. Pretending that she was giving a briefing back at CTU.  
  
Michelle opened her eyes and started to speak softly. Taking comfort from the sound of her voice. Pretending that Tony was there to help her put the pieces together.  
  
"I saw the cars drive past me and I looked away. I heard something. Wait. Could I have heard the car skid or its brakes lock or something like that?"  
  
She fell silent, thinking back. Replaying the incident.  
  
"No. It defiantly didn't skid. Anyway, even if it did skid, how did it get thrown in the air like that? There's no way it was going fast enough."  
  
She could almost picture Tony, encouraging her on. Encouraging her to think things through, no matter how painful it might end up.  
  
"And then it blew up like that." She bit her lip, shaking her head. "There's no reason for that to happen. Even if the car had skidded or the something had locked up on it, that shouldn't have happened. Not with that force and not that suddenly."  
  
"So where does that leave us, Michelle?" She could see Tony if she closed her eyes, half sitting, half leaning on her desk. "If the car didn't skid and the brakes didn't lock, and you know they didn't what does that leave us with?"  
  
She sighed. She knew where this left them. She was just waiting, trying to put off saying it aloud.  
  
"Somebody made it happen. Somebody blew the car up."  
  
Michelle fell silent. Checking over her logic and the evidence again, wondering if there was something, anything she'd missed. Something, anything to explain what had happened. Something, anything, other than a terrorist bomb.  
  
"There's nothing else, Michelle. You haven't missed anything. There's just nothing else. Somebody blew the car up."  
  
She felt her headache start to slip away as she made her decision. She went for a shower, hoping that the cool water would help soothe away the rest of her aches and pains as quickly and as easily.  
  
"Why are we doin' this Sheriff? It was just a crash, right?"  
  
Ben Franklin shrugged, staring at the wreckage. Was that his imagination, or could he still see smoke, trickling from the blasted and melted cars. "I don't know what it was. Just go through it, follow procedure."  
  
Bill, the forensic examiner, shook his head. "This is a fucking mess, Sheriff."  
  
"I know."  
  
"What am I looking for anyway?" He knelt next to the twisted remains of the Governor's car. "Cut brake lines or something like that?"  
  
"I don't know." Ben shrugged again, playing with his sunglasses. "Anything that doesn't look like it fits."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I don't fuckin know, alright. Just anything...unusual. You find anythin' like that, let me know. I'll know what I'm looking for if I see it."  
  
"Okay." He looked at the mess inside the car. "I tell you, Sheriff, this is a hell of a long way from heat exhaustion. What a goddamned mess." His voice shook at the end and he stood up, coughing. He lifted a bottle of water and took a long drink.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
He spat on the ground. "Yeah. Just never expected to see anything like this in Nixon." He stared back at the car, shaking his hand.  
  
"You and me both." Ben put his sunglasses on and pulled his hat down as low as it would go. "Call me if you come up with anything." He nodded at the wreckage. "Cars like that just don't flip themselves."  
  
"Will do, Sheriff."  
  
His phone rang as he was watching them eat breakfast. He didn't take his eyes off them as he answered it. "Hello?"  
  
"Hello Michael."  
  
"What have you got for me."  
  
"More information."  
  
He saw them leave the café and he scrambled to his feet to follow them. "Go on."  
  
"Its defiantly her."  
  
"No shit." He laughed bitterly. "Yesterday proved that."  
  
"The male is identified as Nicholas McKeurkan, age 25. Five years military experience. We don't have anything on him past of that. What happened yesterday?"  
  
"Car bomb. The locals are chasing their tears. Listen, I think I should..."  
  
"Do not contact them, Michael. I mean that. We need her to lead us to the rest of them."  
  
She felt better out in the fresh air. It wasn't as oppressive, as thick as it had been in her hotel room.  
  
It was still hot, though. The sun beating down unmercifully.  
  
Michelle stopped where she had stood the previous day. The actual scene was closed off, a stream of yellow tape preventing anybody getting too close to it. The actual wreckage was gone, though.  
  
"Taken away for examination." She looked at the road surface. "No skid marks." She grinned. "And no rain to wash them away either." She kept her voice low, not wanting the people around her to think she was crazy. She shook her head again, knowing she had crossed every possibility off her list.  
  
She took a deep breath and walked back along the main street. Walking towards the Sheriff's office.  
  
She didn't notice a man following her.  
  
Who was she?  
  
Why was she paying so much attention to the scene. He closed the gap on her, keeping her in sight. She wasn't a local, that was for sure.  
  
So. A journalist?  
  
Inspiration hit him hard.  
  
A connection to one or both of them?  
  
He pulled out his camera and took her photo as she hesitated on the main street. Then dialled a number on his phone. "Baillie, it's Michael again. I need another person identified."  
  
"I'm looking for Sheriff Franklin." Michelle looked around the small station. "Is he here?"  
  
"I'm sorry, ma'am, he's not. Can I pass a message on for you?" The young deputy looked pale and tired. She wondered if he was one of the ones she had seen drinking yesterday.  
  
"Yes, if you could. I have information for him about the...about what happened yesterday."  
  
The deputy wrote quickly on a piece of paper. "And your name is?"  
  
"Michelle Dessler. He spoke to me yesterday. I just...has he left for the day?"  
  
"He's just not here at the moment, Ms Dessler." He pointed at a number of small hard uncomfortable seats. "Do you want to wait on him? I don't know how long he'll be, though."  
  
She looked at the seats and then around the small sweltering building. "No it's okay. If you could just pass that on, tell him that I called. He knows where I'm staying if he wants to get in touch with me."  
  
Michelle turned and walked from the station. Back into the fresh air and the bright sunlight. She smiled as the sun beat down on her face.  
  
She had done all she could.  
  
"Jesus!" She grabbed his arm and pulled him off the main street. Glancing back over her shoulder, concerned. "Jesus. What the fuck is he doing here?"  
  
Caught by her mood, he looked back over his shoulder as well. "Who? I don't see anybody."  
  
"Just somebody I know from home. Shit." She ran her hands through her hair. "It might be alright. I don't think he saw me." She thought back, considering, then shook her head. "Doesn't matter anyway. We're just going to have to be more careful." She reached for a cigarette, using the familiar gestures as a means to calm herself down. "We may have to move things on a little."  
  
"....Charles H McGarrity...."  
  
"....Been killed...."  
  
"....Holiday residence, near Pyramid Lake...."  
  
"....His bodyguards and driver were also killed...."  
  
"....Car crash...."  
  
"....Rumours of suspicious circumstances, which his office has neither confirmed nor denied...."  
  
It was late when he gotten back home.  
  
The sun had long since set, the night cool and clear. He'd only intended to sit for a minute. Forget about this whole shit storm, and just relax.  
  
She woke him with a kiss.  
  
Ben stretched sleepily, pulling her closer to him. "Hey sweetheart."  
  
"Hey. Why are you sleeping down here?"  
  
"I got back late. Didn't want to wake you or Rose. Anyway I only meant to sit for a minute." He yawned, kissing her again. "How was she today?"  
  
"Grouchy." Paige settled in her husbands arms. "She missed her daddy."  
  
Ben managed to smile, stopping it just before it turned into another yawn. "Always nice to be missed." He fell silent, thinking.  
  
"You're thinking about the Governor's accident aren't you?"  
  
"I'm thinking it might not have been an accident. Some things just don't add up too well."  
  
Paige cuddled closer to him, and he rested his chin on top of her head. "Like what?"  
  
He laughed softly. "That's just it. I could be totally wrong, it could just be an accident. It just don't feel right. I told Bill to look for anything unusual in the wreckage."  
  
"Then you've done all you can tonight." She climbed from his embrace and held her hand out. "Come to bed." 


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to everybody that has read and reviewed so far. Hope you are all still enjoying the story. Feedback is always welcome.  
  
Chapter Five  
  
She peered through the spy hole before she opened the door, a habit ingrained in her by life in LA. "Sheriff Franklin." She held the door open for him. "Please come in."  
  
"Ms Dessler." He took his hat off before slipping past her. "Thank you."  
  
She closed the door after him, force of habit making her chain it as well. "I'm glad you came, Sheriff. I need to talk to you about the Governor's accident."  
  
"That's kind of why I'm here, Ms Dessler."  
  
"Call me Michelle, please." She sat down at the table. "Have a seat, please. Do you mind if I finish my breakfast?"  
  
Ben Franklin sat down. "Thank you Ms...Michelle." He tried not to stare at her meal, praying that his stomach wouldn't rumble. He'd been up since dawn, unable to sleep, frightened to stay in bed in case his writhing woke Paige. Given what Bill had told him, Ben Franklin doubted he'd be getting any sleep anytime soon.  
  
"What can I do for you, Sheriff?"  
  
"Something's come up. I need you help." He ran his hand through his hair. She had the air conditioning turned up as far as it would go. This was probably the only place in Nixon that was blessedly cool. "We took the cars away for examination, and we...found something."  
  
She paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth, her dark eyes fixed on him. "And what do you want me to do?"  
  
"I need you to come down to the station. Take a look at a few things for me." He shook his head, looking away from her, passing the brim of his hat through his hands. "Bill came up with a few things, and I got nobody else. I got nobody else with any experience of dealin' with somethin' like this."  
  
"Sure." She looked hastily around the room, snatching clothes up. "Just give me a couple of minutes to get dressed." She disappeared into the bathroom to change. She looked at herself in the mirror as she dressed. Seeing the cuts and bruises across her body, cuts and bruises she had gotten when a car bomb had flung her from her feet.  
  
What had she stumbled into?  
  
"How are you enjoying Nixon?"  
  
"Been a little bit more exciting than I had hoped for so far."  
  
"Look, I'm real sorry about this." Ben Franklin held the door open for her, motioning for her to enter. "I know you're on vacation, and this is probably the last thing you feel like doing."  
  
Michelle laughed, avoiding the question. "I don't know if I'll be a lot of help to you, Sheriff. This isn't exactly my area." She knelt down. Peering through the wreckage. Trying to forget that the last time she had seen these cars, they had been gliding impressively, impassively past her.  
  
Ben leaned against the wall, watching her work. "You've still got more knowledge of this than the rest of my staff. Bill's a good man but..." He pointed at the mess. "Not something we see a hell of a lot of up here."  
  
"To be honest, I wish you'd never seen this one. What the hell?" Michelle leaned as close she could, peering intently into the wreckage. "Sheriff..."  
  
"See, Bill took a night to find that. You found it in about two minutes."  
  
She examined the rest of the wreckage. "There's another one on the wheel arch."  
  
"What? Let me see!" He crouched down next to her, following her pointing finger. "Son of a bitch, Bill missed that one." He sat back on his heels. "Why two devices?"  
  
Michelle shrugged. "They like to make sure. Sometimes just to punish anybody that tries to help."  
  
"Mission accomplished, then." He pushed himself upright and helped her to her feet. "So here's the big question, Michelle. Who carried this out?"  
  
"Somebody skilled, experienced, well organised." She pointed at the wreckage. "They've done this before, so they're flying beneath the radar and they wanted to make sure."  
  
"Shit. Can you give me any names? Anything to work with?" She hesitated and he ploughed across her silence. "I'm out of my depth on this, Michelle. I got sixteen dead and over thirty wounded. I need your help. Please."  
  
"Okay. Can you get me access to a computer?"  
  
He couldn't quite hide his relief. "Right this way."  
  
He stood in the sun. Watching their hotel. Watching as Nixon slowly rebuilt itself around them. There were more people on the street now, the town slowly returning to normality.  
  
He was starting to fear that that was just where she wanted them to be. Hurt and off balance, reeling from one punch, not expecting another.  
  
His phone rang, dragging him from his dark thoughts. He stared at the number on the screen. Thinking about ignoring it, about pretending that it would all disappear.  
  
It continued to ring, incessantly.  
  
Irritated, he stabbed the answer button. "Yeah?"  
  
"Michael? It's Judith."  
  
"Judith? Where's Baillie?"  
  
"He's in a meeting. But we got an ID on that photo you sent us. Her name is Michelle Dessler. She's with the Counter Terrorist Unit in LA."  
  
"What? She's law enforcement?" He switched the phone to the other side of his face, wiping sweat away, trying to ignore where it trickled into his stubble. "What the fuck is she doing here?"  
  
"I don't know." Her voice softened. "How are you doing Michael?"  
  
"I'm okay." He swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat. "Just want to catch this bitch and get out of here."  
  
"Lucy was here yesterday. She left the rest of your stuff in. I put it in your locker for safe keeping. I'm really sorry Michael."  
  
He shrugged again, knowing it was a wasted gesture. "She has to do what she thinks is right. She has to move on in her own way as well."  
  
Michelle drummed her fingers on the desk. Waiting for the computer to connect to their information site. At that moment, she would have killed for one of CTU's high speed connections.  
  
Finally.  
  
She bit her lip as the familiar access screen and logo appeared. She'd hoped to go three weeks without seeing it. She typed quickly, entering her username and password, then started accessing CTU's records on car bombs.  
  
She tried to ignore the whispered comments, the almost accusatory looks exchanged by the other deputies, especially when Ben Franklin was not nearby. She could feel their eyes burning through her.  
  
Who the hell was she? What the hell was she doing here? Why was she being allowed to interfere with their investigation?  
  
"You find anythin' yet?" Ben appeared at her elbow, two glasses of iced water in his hands. He slid one across the small worn desk to her.  
  
She was suddenly, painfully, thirsty.  
  
"Not yet." She took a long drink. Wishing she was back in her hotel room. Wishing even that she had never stopped in Nixon. "I'm just trying to access our records, see if I can match equipment or methods with anything we got in our database." As she spoke, the screen refreshed and she leaned forward, starting to enter search parameters.  
  
"Yeah our computers are probably not what you're used to." He watched over her shoulder, watched her enter the data, the information. Watched her backtrack at every dead end, change one of the parameters, and start the whole process again. She worked quickly, quietly, without complaining.  
  
Ben Franklin sat back in his seat, grinning to himself. He could have done with a few more like her two days ago.  
  
Michelle could smell Franklin's cologne, could hear the calm, easy rise and fall of his breathing. For all of his protestations, Franklin seemed like he was holding together pretty well.  
  
Another search came back negative. Michelle sat back in her chair, starting to drum her fingers on the desk, before she forced herself to stop. She glanced at her bag, at her dormant cell phone. She almost reached for it.  
  
Almost.  
  
She caught Franklin's eyes on her and hastily jerked her gaze away from it.  
  
"Problems?"  
  
She shrugged. "Just turned up a blank so far." At least the puzzle was distracting her, stopping her thinking about how much pain she should be in. "What sort of man was McGarrity."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Enemies, lovers, ambitions, that sort of thing."  
  
Franklin thought for a moment. "He wasn't well liked up here, that's for damn sure. Keeps trying to cut the locals land rights. Enemies, though." He frowned. "Nothing that's been passed to us. Nevada State Police, they might have better records."  
  
"Nevada State Police." Her fingers flew across the keyboard, Franklin trying desperately to follow what she typed. The screen cleared, then rapidly filled in. She clicked on a link. "There."  
  
"How in the hell did you know where to find that?" Ben pulled his chair forward, the legs scrapping against the floor. Scanning the file.  
  
She looked away, pleased at his praise. "Police sites usually organise their data in much the same way. You just need to know where to look." She fell silent, biting her lip again as she read through the information. "Six...no seven threats."  
  
"Jesus." Suddenly ashen faced, Franklin covered his mouth with his hand. "Jesus why didn't they tell us?"  
  
"I don't know." Michelle scanned the reports. "It's a relatively unknown group, they didn't take them seriously. They didn't even run the threat analysis. Even McGarrity thought they were empty threats." They hadn't passed the information on.  
  
"Who sent them?" Franklin found himself lost in the maze of acronyms and codes. "I cant make any fuckin' sense of this at all."  
  
"Z.I.E.F. They're a Middle Eastern terrorist group. Looks like they disagreed with McGarrity on American foreign policy in the region." She sighed, seeing another familiar face swim through her memory. Would she ever be able to escape the Middle East?  
  
"Middle Eastern?" Franklin relaxed, tension seeming to drain from his body. "Shouldn't be too hard to pick them up. They'll stick out like a sore thumb here."  
  
"They aren't Arabic terrorists, Ben."  
  
He insisted on walking her back to the hotel. Insisted on buying her dinner to thank her for her help.  
  
He walked her out of the station. Past his deputies, past their whispers, and their unspoken accusations, past their jealousies their resentments, their insecurities.  
  
If she was so goddamned good at her job, if she was so goddamned useful, how come she hadn't seen it coming? Why couldn't she stop it?  
  
She forced memories, guilt away, and tried to pay attention to Ben Franklin's conversation. Wasn't that why she had left LA? To let herself heal and forget?  
  
Franklin moved his hands a lot as he talked over diner, the light of the restaurant catching his ring, illuminating the band of gold around his finger, making it flash brightly through the dim room.  
  
She caught herself wondering what his wife was like.  
  
As soon as she put her key in the door, she knew. She knew that somebody was in her room, waiting for her. She had a sudden, brief flash of hope that...  
  
She shook her head, banishing the thought before she had even formed it. She slid her hand into her bag, sliding her gun from it's holster. She clicked the safety off, and slowly pushed the door open.  
  
Her room was dark, the curtains pulled. She held her breath. Listening, concentrating.  
  
There.  
  
She could hear harsh breathing. If she squinted, she could just about make out a stocky male form.  
  
She pointed her gun at him. "I'm an armed Federal Agent. Get your hands up!" She waited until he complied. "Now stand up. Nice and slowly." Still lingering in the slightly brighter hallway, still pointing the gun at him. She reached through the door, switching the light on, watching in satisfaction as the man stumbled backwards, blinking in the sudden brightness. He was careful to keep his hands in the air. She walked into the room, glancing quickly, carefully, either side of the door before kicking it shut after her.  
  
"We need to talk, Ms Dessler." 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six  
  
"Keep your hands up! How do you know my name? What are you doing in my room?" Michelle kept the gun aimed at his chest, hastily scanning the room, making sure he had no accomplices with him.  
  
He kept his eyes focused on her face. Seeming to dismiss the fact that she had a loaded weapon aimed at his chest. "Please, Ms Dessler. I'm not here to hurt you. I want to talk to you about the Governor's accident."  
  
"What about it?"  
  
"It wasn't an accident." He watched her face carefully for any flickers of emotion. "It was a car bomb, and I think you know it as well."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about. But if you have information, I think we should have the Sheriff here." She tightened her grip on the pistol, her finger against the trigger, strengthening her stance, just in case her strange visitor tried anything.  
  
"I know you work for CTU Los Angeles. I know you've been helping the local plods here." He fought against a sudden rush of tears, blinking rapidly against their onslaught. "Please, I just want to help catch these murdering bastards. Please don't cut me out."  
  
"You got any identification?" She waited until he nodded. "Reach for it. Slowly. And slide it across the floor to me." He pulled a wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and kicked it over to her. She jerked her head. "Move. Against the bathroom door. Slowly." She knelt, picking up his wallet. She dropped her bag and moved onto the bed, dragging the phone with her. She kept her eyes and the gun trained on him.  
  
"CTU."  
  
"Tony Almeida, please." At least this gave her an excuse to talk to him.  
  
"CTU, Almeida."  
  
"Hey, Tony, it's me."  
  
His voice suddenly became more alert. "Michelle, someone's been using your profile to access our databases."  
  
"I know, Tony. It was me. I've stumbled onto something up here." She opened up the wallet, flicking her gaze between its contents and the man standing calmly against her bathroom door. "I need a favour, Tony."  
  
"Yeah? What do you need?"  
  
"I need any details we have on a Michael Hunte, DOB 11th March 1970, in Belfast."  
  
"Okay." She could hear his fingers hitting the keys, an almost reassuring sound. "Michael Hunte. He's...ah Michelle. He's Northern Ireland Police, Special Branch. Speciality in anti-terrorist ops. I'm sending the picture to your phone now. You need anything else?"  
  
She backed off the bed, pulling her phone from her bag. Reluctantly, she switched it on, waiting for the message to come through.  
  
"Michelle?"  
  
"I'm just waiting for the picture." The message came through, and she compared the images, holding her cell phone up at eye level. "No. Thanks Tony, that's everything. Good to talk to you. I'll give you a call later." She replaced the phone. Stared at his identification for another moment, then threw the wallet back to him. After a moments hesitation, she turned her cell phone off again. She lifted her bag from the floor, tucking her gun and phone away.  
  
He stooped and picked up his wallet. "My details check out okay?"  
  
"Yeah." She opened the fridge, lifted out a couple of beers, and opened them. She took a long drink of one, feeling her control return, and handed the other beer across to him. "Why are you here, Mr Hunte?"  
  
"Michael, please." He took a mouthful of beer, blissfully cold against his parched throat. "I followed a suspect. A woman called Sinead Loughlin." He pulled a notebook from his back pocket, taking a photo from it and showing it to Michelle. "Loughlin's wanted for number of terrorist attacks back home. She makes a speciality out of car bombs." He replaced the photo inside the notebook.  
  
"And she's here? In Nixon?"  
  
"Yeah. She met with a young man. Nicholas McKeurkan. Israeli trained, military experience. And then..." He smiled helplessly. "Well you know what happened."  
  
"Israeli trained? McGarrity was threatened by Zionist terrorists. Half a dozen times." She shook her head, taking another long drink of beer. "Nobody took them seriously."  
  
Hunte grunted, starting to pick at the label of his bottle. "You can bet your arse that they're wishing they had taken them seriously now. Idiots." He wiped sweat from his forehead, still perspiring freely in spite of the relative chill of the early evening. "Only thing I can think of is that he's supplying her with equipment and munitions. Military surplus, that sort of thing. Maybe information.  
  
The answer hit her hard, almost like the explosion had, rushing over her in waves. "No. He's not supplying her with anything, Michael. She's training him."  
  
After the relative chill of the evening, the sun returned with renewed ferocity, renewed anger. Nixon came slowly to life, in spite of the heat, the shops, restaurants and cafes slowly starting to fill up.  
  
By common consent, everybody avoided the centre of the town, the scars of the explosion still caged behind a wall of yellow tape, protected by an increased number of white shirted deputies.  
  
And she was nervous.  
  
She knew he was here. She kept looking over her shoulder, nervous. Expecting to see hi, standing there behind her. Waiting to arrest her.  
  
She flinched when the waiter arrived with breakfast. Trying to ignore Nicholas' smirk as she lit a cigarette with a hand that shook, sunglasses hiding the sleepless rings beneath her eyes. "It's time." She tried to pretend that the hoarseness in her voice was because of the heat.  
  
Nicholas nodded, his eyes suddenly bright with enthusiasm. "I only have a couple of charges left."  
  
"No problem. I can show you how to improvise." She forced a smile, still feeling eyes watching her every move. She took a mouthful of coffee, and set the cup down. "Come on, lets get out of here." She fumbled in her pocket, dropping a handful of change on the table to pay for a breakfast she hadn't touched.  
  
Nicholas hurried to catch up with her. She didn't slow, forcing him to hurry and match her stride. She would be glad to leave him behind.  
  
Glad to leave him and this shit hole of a town far behind her.  
  
"Do you have a target in mind?"  
  
She nodded, looking around a town slowly coming to terms with her handiwork. "Yeah. I do."  
  
It seemed like he'd been trying to explain this for hours. He rested his forehead against the palm of his hand, holding the phone between his cheek and shoulder. Covering the same ground over and over, his head starting to throb like the desert sun.  
  
"Yes sir. I realise who the victim was....yes, I'm sure his widow..." He shook his head in frustration. "I'm sorry that's not..." He looked up when he heard a rap at this door, signalling for the deputy to enter. "I cant release the vehicles yet, we're still...no...okay, I'll keep you informed." He hung up. "Assholes." He sighed, glancing at his deputy. "What can I do for you, Luca?"  
  
"It's about that CTU agent, Dessler."  
  
"What about her?"  
  
Lucas shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Me and a few of the guys have been talking. We don't like how much access she's getting to the investigation. We don't need her Sheriff."  
  
"What?"  
  
"We don't need her. We can handle this investigation ourselves."  
  
Franklin rubbed his eyes, feeling his weariness course through him. He had had another sleepless night. "You know much about terrorists or car bombs, Luca?"  
  
"Well, no, but..."  
  
"She does, Luca. That's why we need her."  
  
"Just touching base with you Michael." Even down a phone line, even from thousands of miles away, Bailie managed to sound condescending and smug.  
  
"I'll do my job, Bailie."  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"Still in Nixon. Still following Loughlin. I'm telling you, Bailie. This would be so much easier if I just went to the Sheriff's office and had him arrest her."  
  
"You know we cant do that Michael. I know you want this one. Just a little longer, I promise. She's going to go to jail for a very long time."  
  
She walked back into the Sheriff's office. Trying to ignore the way it fell quiet when she walked through the door. Trying to ignore their looks and unspoken accusations.  
  
At least, Ben Franklin was pleased to see her. He smiled and stood up, pulling the chair out for her to sit down. "Tell me you have something for me. I could so with some good news."  
  
"I spoke to CTU this morning."  
  
"And?"  
  
"We don't have a lot of intel on Z.I.E.F. Like I said, they're a relatively new group." Michelle shifted in her seat. It felt even warmer in the Sheriff's office than it had on the street outside. "Tony's gonna look through the data. See if he can find anything we can use."  
  
"Will he find anything?"  
  
"If there's anything there to find, Tony'll find it." She felt herself flush, tried to tell herself it was just the heat. "He's very good at job." She cleared her throat, hurrying past her embarrassment. "There's more as well."  
  
Ben groaned. "More? Better or worse?"  
  
"He ran the intel we had on the car bomb, and he got some hits from European sources. Matches the equipment and tactics used by dissident groups in Ireland."  
  
"This just doesn't get any better does it?"  
  
Noise at the door made them both look up. Ben smiled, standing and walking around his desk to open the door for a small woman pushing a stroller. He kissed her swiftly on the cheek. "Hey sweetheart. What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"  
  
"Yes, everything's fine. I just brought you down some..." She stopped when she saw Michelle, biting her lip. "Oh."  
  
"Paige, this is Michelle Dessler. Michelle, this is Paige Franklin, my wife." He crouched next to the stroller and lifted the child out, cradling her carefully in his arms. "And this is Rose."  
  
Michelle tried to smile. "Very nice to meet you both." She fought to control her breathing, trying to bite down on the sudden irrational rasp of jealousy flaring through her. Dimly, she made herself stand. "I'll leave you both alone. I'll be in touch, Ben. When I have some more information." She conjured a smile from somewhere, managing to direct it at Paige. "Nice to meet you."  
  
Suddenly she missed Tony so much it was like a stabbing pain through her body.  
  
She managed to make it out of his office, before she stopped to draw a shuddering breath, pulling herself together.  
  
Paige Franklin waited until Michelle (was that what he'd called her?) had left the station before turning to her husband. "Who was that?"  
  
Ben swung his daughter in his arms, delighting in her mumbles of happiness. It took him a second to register that Paige had even spoken. "I'm sorry, sweetie. What did you say?"  
  
Her anger glinted in her eyes, on her cheekbones. "I asked who that was."  
  
"Nobody. Counter terrorism agent from Los Angeles."  
  
"What's she doing here then?"  
  
He stared at her, hearing an odd unpleasant twist in her voice that he had never heard before. "She's helping with enquiries."  
  
She had herself under control by the time she arrived at the café, her professional mask back in place. Easier to wall things up, push them away, deal with them later.  
  
She would deal with them later.  
  
Michael had a drink waiting for her. She took a long mouthful, closing her eyes as she felt the alcohol, cold against the back of her throat. Soothing, easing. Making it a little easier for her to forget.  
  
"Did you speak to Franklin?"  
  
"I did, yeah. Don't worry, I didn't mention your name." She contemplated her drink. "I don't like lying to him. He'd doing the best he can. I think he could really help us, if he was brought into the loop."  
  
"I know. Believe me. There's nothing I'd like better than to bring him in. But I cant. I got my orders. My boss wants this bitch and so do I. This is the only way to get the rest of the network."  
  
She nodded dully. Then her smile flashed in the late afternoon sun, bitter and angry. "I came here to get away from terrorists."  
  
Michael's answering smile was equally hard and bitter. "I know what you mean. I think when I get Loughlin, I'm going to take a nice long holiday somewhere sunny, get blind drunk. I always promised Brian....  
  
"Who's Brian?"  
  
"My son. He's dead now. Three years."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
He shrugged. Wiping tears from his eyes. The pain never did stop stinging. "She killed him. In a car bomb." 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven  
  
How could he?  
  
How could he betray her like that? Just use her, make her fall in love with him, marry her....she had been so happy that day, so proud of him in his uniform, standing tall at the front of the church. How could he do this to her, hurt her so easily?  
  
Paige walked quickly down Nixon's main street, staring blindly ahead, deaf to people speaking to her on the street. Remembering the sight of the two of them together.  
  
What was her name? What had he called her? Michelle?  
  
Paige blinked away tears, tightening her grip on the handle of the stroller, picking up speed as images of the two of them together flashed through her mind. Images of them kissing, embracing, touching... She was exactly the sort of woman Ben found attractive, as well Tall, slender, dark eyed, with those curls for him to tangle his fingers in...  
  
Desperately, Paige closed her eyes. But the images still remained, burnt into her memory, her imagination. She couldn't even blame him for straying. She wiped her eyes, then ran her hand across her stomach and hips, still feeling fat from her pregnancy. Imagining the disgust in Ben's eyes when he looked at her, her lip curling with her own disdain. Michelle was still slender, still desirable and he looked at her the way he had once looked at Paige.  
  
She remembered all the times he had fallen asleep at his desk or on the couch since she had discovered she was pregnant. All the times she had gone down the stairs to wake him, to bring him back to their bed. What a fool she'd been, to be blind to how much he loathed her.  
  
Jesus, she hated her. Hated them both. Hated them all.  
  
Forgotten in her stroller, Rose started to cry.  
  
"Anyway, he was playing football with his friends, and the bomb went off." Hunte shook his head, remembering the carnage of the day. "They never stood a chance."  
  
"I'm sorry." The words seemed so inadequate, but they were all that Michelle had to offer him.  
  
Hunte poured himself another drink, offering Michelle another one as well. She shook her head and covered her glass. "My wife fell apart. Brian had always been...Lucy had to do a lot of things with Brian that I should have done and couldn't. Because of the job."  
  
Michelle looked around the bar. Pretending not to notice as Hunte wiped discretely wiped his eyes.  
  
"Things were different between us afterwards. We were able to link Loughlin to that attack and a handful of others, but we were never able to make things stick against her. I started to drink a lot more as well." He shrugged. "We just drifted apart."  
  
Again, Michelle let silence fall between them. Giving him the chance to recover his composure.  
  
He poured himself another drink, not even bothering to offer her one this time. He took a mouthful, trying to drown the memories of the funeral, bury them with happier ones. He tried to laugh. "So what about you?" Trying desperately to lighten the mood, to change the subject.  
  
"What about me?"  
  
He pointed at her fingers, intertwined around the stem of her glass. "You aren't wearing a wedding ring. Anybody special back in LA?"  
  
She smiled shyly, suddenly reluctant to meet his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah there is. His name's Tony."  
  
"You been together long?"  
  
"Not really." She started to play with one of the coins the waiter had left as change, spinning it across her knuckles. Feeling the alcohol start to batter at her own defences, at her own control. "Its complicated. He works at CTU." She took a drink, needing the courage to finish the story. "He's my boss."  
  
He could feel his head starting to buzz, his limbs growing unresponsive to his commands. Ignoring the warnings coming from his brain, he lifted the glass to his lips again. "Is that a problem?"  
  
"I don't know. I don't think so. I hope not. I've been gone for less than a week and I miss him like crazy." She shrugged. "I don't know."  
  
Michael stumbled to his feet, lurching a couple of steps towards her before he corrected his balance. "I think I've had too much to drink." He stumbled again, using the back of the chair to keep himself upright. "I'm going to go to bed. Night Michelle."  
  
"Night Michael."  
  
He stumbled away from the café, staggering towards another bar. He had a sudden instinctive need to get as drunk as he could, as quickly as he could.  
  
Michelle watched him leave, stumbling from one side of the street to the other. Leaving her alone.  
  
Ben Franklin hated paperwork. Always had, always would. Hated it so much he often left it for as long as he could, until there was a mountain of it, piled precariously on top of his desk.  
  
Recent events in Nixon had generated a shit load of paperwork, as well as all the other paper pushing he had been neglecting. His desk was rapidly disappearing beneath the weight of it all.  
  
He flinched when he heard a door in the house slam. Heard Paige's footsteps, angrily stalking across the floor, lifting their crying baby, shaken from her sleep by Paige's temper.  
  
He finished writing another report, signed it and put it in his completed pile, still pitifully small compared to the amount of work he still had to do.  
  
Paige had been in a foul temper since he had come home from work. One of the reasons he was trying to work his way through the backlog.  
  
Dinner had been served in silence, his attempts at conversation greeted by a wall of ignorance and monosyllabic responses. She had kept her attention focused mostly on her plate, or on Rose. Only looking at him to make sure he could see the extent of the anger in her eyes.  
  
Her moods were getting worse. He couldn't imagine her responding to a crisis, to the unfair demands it would place on her shoulders in the way that Michelle had. She had thrown everything to one side, her holiday, everything, to help him because he had asked, and it had needed to be done.  
  
He threw his pen down on the table, pushing the paperwork away from him, closing his eyes. He wasn't going to get anymore work done now.  
  
She was back in his head.  
  
He tore a page from his notebook and scribbled a note for his wife on it. He left it on the coffee table, lifting his hat and keys as he went.  
  
She was back in his head.  
  
"Gimme another drink."  
  
The barman glanced at him in concern, but poured him another shot. He lifted the glass, tilting it towards the light, watching the liquid rush about inside it.  
  
He was drunk. Very drunk. And even that wasn't right.  
  
He was shitfaced.  
  
Shitfaced, yet the memories kept coming back. Memories of Lucy....of Brian, of the things he had said to Lucy after it had all...  
  
He drank the shot down, trying to drown the voices.  
  
His cell phone started to ring. Making his mood worse.  
  
He glanced at the number and pushed the phone away from him. Signalling the barman for another drink.  
  
"We have to be careful. It's a small town and the local police aren't THAT stupid."  
  
"What about that one?" He pointed at a small, battered Ford, parked at the side of the main street.  
  
"Perfect." She popped the door lock and slid into the driver's seat. Opening the passenger door for Nicholas. She fumbled with the ignition, smiling as the car kicked into life. "With this type of thing, timing is important. Especially when you don't have much equipment. It's different back home."  
  
"How many do we need?"  
  
She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "This one. And another two. Gives us good coverage."  
  
"So if we get another one tonight, and then maybe tomorrow afternoon." Nicholas fell quiet, trying to read her face to see what she was thinking. "Does that spread everything out? Give us enough time and keep the police off our backs?"  
  
"Should do." She thought quickly through the time frame. "In fact, Nicholas, that should work out perfectly."  
  
"Almeida."  
  
"Hey Tony."  
  
"Michelle. What the hell is going on up there?"  
  
"Nothing Tony. It doesn't matter, it's all under control." She spoke quickly before he could ask her anymore about Nixon. "How are things back there?"  
  
"Everything's okay. I told ya already Michelle, you don't need to worry about this place. What about Hunte? Was it him?"  
  
"Yeah. Look Tony, it's a really long story. I'll tell you it all when I get back to LA, okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
"It's just...I'd rather talk to you, than about..."  
  
"It's okay, Michelle. I'd rather talk to you as well."  
  
"I miss you Tony." Thinking of Ben Franklin, of the way he was around his wife and child. "I've missed you so much."  
  
"I've missed you too." His voice had dropped, the some tone he used when he wanted the listeners attention. "CTU hasn't been the same without you. Although Chapelle's still being an asshole so at least that's kept me sane."  
  
She couldn't stop herself laughing, just as her door knocked. "Listen Tony, someone's at the door. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye." She hung up and went to the door. She glanced through the peephole, smiled and opened the door. "Sheriff." Her smile faded quickly. "Is something wrong? Has there been...." She bit her lip before she said anything more.  
  
She could change, just like that. From social and relaxed, to business and professional. Something else he admired her for.  
  
"No, no. Nothing's happened." He produced a bottle of wine from behind his back. "This is a social call."  
  
She laughed. "Come on in, Ben. I'll try and find some glasses. I hope you brought a corkscrew."  
  
Ben pulled out a small corkscrew. "Never leave home without one." Grinning at her.  
  
God, she had the most beautiful smile...  
  
He managed to get his hands and his brain working in time to take the glasses of her and pour wine for them both.  
  
Michelle sat on the floor facing him, crossing her legs beneath her. "So. How long have you and Paige been married?"  
  
"Little over four years." He tried the wine, nodding in satisfaction at the taste. "We moved up here when we found out Paige was pregnant. Didn't think Vegas was a good place to raise a child."  
  
"No I can see why you would think that. You've a beautiful family Ben." She wanted that. Wanted somebody to say that about her. Wanted Tony to be able to pull out a photo of her and their children and someone to tell him what a beautiful family he had.  
  
She wanted what the Franklins had.  
  
She nearly lost herself in the day dream.  
  
"Thank you." He took another mouthful of wine. "Took Paige a while to settle in up here. I was workin' a lot and she was pregnant and didn't know anybody." He finished his wine and poured them both a fresh glass.  
  
Michelle thought of her own move to LA. "Must have been rough for her, especially if she wasn't working. At least when I went to LA, I had work. You know, something to occupy my time and help me settle in." She sipped at the wine, her head starting to spin a little. "Must have been tough for you both."  
  
Ben shook his head. "How do you do that?"  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Put yourself in somebody else's place like that and know what they've been through. It's an amazing talent."  
  
"I get lucky sometimes." She took another, longer drink, starting to get used to the wines taste. "It's not that amazing, Ben, believe me."  
  
"I think you've been amazing since you got here." He flushed as he spoke, knowing that his mouth was moving too quickly for his brain. "I mean if you hadn't been here, if you hadn't agreed to help, if you hadn't found that information, we'd still be treating this as an accident."  
  
Michelle closed her eyes, every word of praise another nail hammering into her conscience. She looked away, feeling the lies starting to spill from her eyes.  
  
"Michelle?" Ben moved to sit closer to her. "Michelle, what's wrong?"  
  
"I've been lying to you, Ben."  
  
"You don't work for CTU?"  
  
"No. No I work for CTU. But the Irish information, it didn't come from CTU. There's an Irish cop here, Michael Hunte. He's tracking a suspect named Sinead Loughlin."  
  
"And he thinks she planted the bomb?"  
  
"He does, yeah." Michelle shook her head, conscious of his nearness. "I'm sorry Ben. I didn't want to lie to you. His handlers...."  
  
He interrupted her. "It doesn't matter Michelle."  
  
Then he kissed her. 


	8. Chapter 8

Hey, thanks again for reading and reviewing. Any feedback still greatly appreciated.  
  
Chapter 8  
  
She kept watch while Nicholas worked, sliding a thin metal rod between the door and the frame. Chewing on her lip, expecting to see the police swoop down on her, expecting to see him with them. Grinning at her in satisfaction.  
  
She tightened her hands into fists, feeling her nails bite into the palm of her hand. She almost hoped that they were waiting to arrest them, that he was with them.  
  
She still owed him for Niall. For what he had done to Niall.  
  
Nicholas pulled on the rod, opening the door with a sharp click. He looked around at her, smiling to see her reaction. His smile faded quickly. "Its open." Suddenly eager to be gone, he pulled himself into the drivers seat and gunned the engine.  
  
Arms folded across herself, she stalked around to the passenger seat Taking one last look around Nixon's main street, quiet now, dark, empty, broken only by passing headlights and the occasional noise drifting from nearby bars.  
  
It was quiet now, in the cool desert night. Nixon came alive early though. Came alive as soon as the sun cleared the horizon, before it got too unbearably hot.  
  
She would have killed for some rain. Just cool the town down. Just to wash the blood away.  
  
She took one last look around the main street, making a few final adjustments to her plan, before she got into the car. "Lets get out of here, before some drunken redneck comes looking for his car." The first words she had spoken in hours. Nicholas pressed his foot to the accelerator and the car sped away from the curb. She watched the street drift past her, imagining it filled with people, families.  
  
Imagining what she was going to do to it.

Paige awakened slowly.  
  
The house was still, silent around her.  
  
She stretched out a hand, reaching for Ben. Sick of the wall, of the distance that she had allowed to grown between them. Her hand fell on the sheets, cold to the touch. Paige rolled over, now fully awake. His side of the bed was still made, no sign of him in the room.  
  
Where was he?  
  
Paige lay still and silent. Listening to the house settling around her. She could hear Rose, gurgling contentedly on the baby monitor. She held her breath, wondering if there was anybody downstairs.  
  
Nothing. No sound, no movement from downstairs. Maybe he had fallen asleep in the den again. She allowed herself a smile. Every time he did that, he woke up with an aching neck. Maybe she'd give him a massage.  
  
Wrapping herself in a robe, lifting the baby monitor, Paige walked from the bedroom. She stopped briefly to check on Rose, before heading down the stairs.  
  
"Ben?" Paige checked the den, his favourite armchair. He wasn't there.  
  
Where was he? Was he with her?  
  
She saw a scrap of paper on the coffee table, covered with his fine precise handwriting. She snatched it up, read it quickly, squinting in the dim light.  
  
Then she threw the note down. "Called out!" She glanced at the phone and shook her head. "If he's been called out, he wont want me to call. I'll just sit up and wait on him." She lay down on the couch, covering herself with the throw.  
  
She was so tired.  
  
The press of his lips against hers shocked her.  
  
She felt him move, his arms coming around her waist and shoulders. Trying to pull her closer to him. She jerked away from him, breaking the embrace. Standing up, needing to get away from him as quickly as she could. She kicked the wine bottle over as she stood, the contents spilling unnoticed onto the carpet.  
  
Ben Franklin ran his tongue across his lips. "I'm sorry, Michelle. I shouldn't have done that." He could taste her on his lips.  
  
"Damn right you shouldn't." She was shaking, she realised. "You're married for Christ's sake." She pushed her hair behind her ears. "I have a boyfriend." What had she done to make him think she wanted him? "I have a boyfriend."  
  
She battered down the guilt, the jealousy she had felt growing since she arrived in Nixon. She didn't want him. She envied him, envied him his family and happiness. She wanted Tony.  
  
"I know. I'm sorry." Ben stayed seated on the floor, not trusting himself to stand. "I don't know....just working so closely with you and the wine..." Staring at his wedding ring, trying to block out everything that had just happened.  
  
Her temper snapped. "Bullshit." Michelle walked to her door, opened it, trying to ignore how much her hands were shaking. "I think you should go." She couldn't even bring herself to look at him. Tony. What was she going to tell Tony? How was she going to tell Tony?  
  
How could she have let herself hurt him so soon?  
  
"Michelle...."  
  
"Ben. Get out. Now."  
  
He lifted his hat, holding it in front of his chest like a shield. He stopped in the doorway, trying to meet her eyes, to make one last attempt to explain what had just happened.  
  
She looked away, refusing to meet his eyes.  
  
He sighed, put his hat on and walked out of the room. He heard her shut her door, lock it after him.  
  
He made it to his car in a daze. Sitting in the drivers seat with his head aching, his mouth dry. He slapped the steering wheel, feeling the unforgiving plastic bite into his hand, feeling his wedding ring grip against his ring finger. What had he been thinking of?  
  
"Sheriff? Sheriff are you there?"  
  
The noise of his radio was a pleasant diversion from the accusations in his head.  
  
"Sheriff?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm here, Control. Go ahead."  
  
"Sheriff, John Mendolaza is here. He's demanding to speak to you."  
  
"Did he say what it was about Control?"  
  
"Negative, Sheriff. He just says he wants to talk to you."  
  
Ben Franklin ran his hand across his face. "I'll be there in a few minutes Control."  
  
Michelle locked the door after he left. Leaning against the door, covering her mouth, scared that she was going to be sick. Thinking back through her conversations with Ben, wondering....  
  
She lifted her bag, threw it on the bed. Opening drawers, starting to lift clothes out. She could be packed and gone in an hour, gone from Nixon, and she could wipe this, wipe everything from her memory.  
  
She stopped, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Remembering the bodies, lying twisted in the street. She couldn't go. Michael Hunte still needed her help to catch their killer, to catch his sons killer. In any case, she had been able to work with Carrie Turner. After her, Ben Franklin should be easy.  
  
She sat on the bed, dragging the phone over with her. She dialled his number, listening anxiously as it ran longer than it would normally have.  
  
"Almeida." His voice sounded weak, tired.  
  
"Did I wake you? Sorry. I just...I just thought I'd give you a call back."  
  
"Did you get rid of whoever was at the door?"  
  
'So much for being able to forget about it.' She could still feel his arms around her, his lips against her. "Yeah it was nothing important. It doesn't matter."  
  
"So I have you all to myself?"  
  
She heard rustling, movement, his voice slipping as he sat up in bed, and smiled to herself. "Yeah you do." She lowered her voice, needing to tell him this, needing him to believe it. "No matter how good a time I've had, it would have been better with you here."  
  
She couldn't tell him now. Not like this. Not over the phone. It didn't matter. Franklin had kissed her and she had thrown him out. There was nothing to tell.  
  
She lay back on the bed, kicking the bag away. Talking to Tony, listening to him speak. Using the sound of his voice to drive away thoughts of Ben Franklin.  
  
Another cup of scalding black coffee. Grimacing as it stung the back of his throat. He set it on his desk and pushed it away from him. At least when the coffee was that hot, it would hide the smell of booze on his breath.  
  
"Where did you park the car John?"  
  
John Mendolaza was an older man, a long time resident of Nixon. He didn't have much time for 'blow ins', preferring to spend his time with the locals, with people he had known all his life.  
  
If it hadn't been for recent events in Nixon, Ben doubted that Mendolaza would be talking to him now. But then, recent events had stirred everything in Nixon up.  
  
Ben flinched as an image of Michelle Dessler seared through his brain.  
  
"I parked it outside the Arrow." Mendolaza paused, shifting a wad of chewing tobacco to the other side of his mouth. "Same as I always do. When I came out, she was gone."  
  
"How long where you in the Arrow for?"  
  
John shrugged. "Three or four hours. Not that long, nothing much happenin'. Whole towns got a bug up its ass after what happened to McGarrity." He spat the tobacco into the bin, one long stream of foul smelling liquid. "You ask me, the bastard had it coming."  
  
"You been drinking John?"  
  
"I had a few, yeah Sheriff. Doesn't change the fact that some bastards ran away with my truck!"  
  
"Okay." Ben opened his notebook and handed it and a pen to Mendolaza. "Write it down."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Write down what type of car you drive."  
  
"You don't know what type of car I drive?" John shook his head, bending over the note book. "Fuckin blowin."  
  
"Just write it down." Ben rubbed his eyes, still able to smell her perfume from his shirt.  
  
"There." John pushed the notebook back to him. "Cant believe you didn't know what I drove." He hacked off another slice of tobacco, working it into a comfortable wad inside his mouth. "When will I get my money?"  
  
"Couple of days. We have to fax the details through, then we have to wait and follow the insurance company's procedures."  
  
"Couple of days then?"  
  
Ben nodded. "Couple of days, no more."  
  
"Thanks Sheriff."  
  
Ben watched John Mendolaza stumble from his office. The man had had more than a few. More likely than not, he'd just forgotten where he'd parked. Ben looked at the scribbled note- a big powerful jeep, John Mendolaza pride and joy.  
  
How likely was it, really, that he'd just forgotten where he'd parked it?  
  
He lifted the radio. "All units, this is Sheriff Franklin. Be advised to keep alert for black jeep, registration mark NEV478, reported stolen from outside The Red Arrow bar. If found do NOT approach, repeat do NOT approach."  
  
Ben clicked the radio off, hanging the microphone up, massaging his aching head. He could still feel the wine coursing through his veins. He sighed again, lifting his cup and walking to the coffee pot. The strong sweet smell made his stomach rumble. How long had it been since he'd eaten or slept? Maybe if he just closed his eyes....  
  
The ringing phone destroyed any chance of that. He glanced at it, wondering if....  
  
He snatched the phone up. "Nixon Sheriff's Department."  
  
"Ben? It's me."  
  
"Hey sweetheart, what's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing. I got your note and I tried to stay awake for you, but I fell asleep. I just woke up to check on Rose and you weren't home yet. Is anything wrong?"  
  
He could hear the suspicion, the unspoken accusation in her voice. "No. John Mendolaza had his truck stolen and he wanted to speak to me, that's all."  
  
"How many do we use?"  
  
"Two on each. Like I showed you before." She knelt behind the vehicle, starting to unscrew the plate. "When you've attached those, starting taking the plates from the other car."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Keeps the police guessing. If someone's reported their car stolen, police look for it based on the registration. If the ref don't match the report, then they ignore it."  
  
"Where are we putting them?"  
  
"Main street. One at each end, with the smaller charges."  
  
"And the other one."  
  
"Outside the Sheriffs Office."


	9. Chapter 9

Okay, into the home stretch. Not too sure how much more there is to go, but I'm certainly getting close to the end. Thanks to everybody that's read and reviewed. Keep it up....I need your feedback!  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
"Why didn't you call me?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Sheriff." The young deputy clutched his hat nervously, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of his seat. "It was 6am, and Vince said...."  
  
"Vince said? Vince said? Who is the Sheriff here?"  
  
"You are Sheriff." The deputy lowered his head, staring at the floor. He was pale faced, his bottom lip trembling. He looked like he was about to cry. "I'm sorry Sheriff, please. It'll never happen again. Just give me another chance." He was actually crying now, tears snaking down his cheeks. Scared that he was going to take the brunt of Ben Franklin's temper.  
  
The kid was all of 21. 'Great' though Ben. 'Make me feel like a bully. That makes me feel even better this morning.' He sighed loudly, turning his chair around so he could switch the fan on. It had been so blissfully cool in....  
  
He stopped that thought before it went any further.  
  
"Okay. Look, don't listen to what Vince says. The guys an asshole. I'm the senior officer, so I have to sign off on your arrest papers."  
  
"But we're so far behind with the paperwork after..."  
  
"You let me worry about that, son. Okay? I get the paperwork as soon as you have finished it. Understand?"  
  
"Perfectly, Sheriff."  
  
"Good. Now get out of here." He picked up his pen, holding it poised over the mess of paperwork on his desk until he heard his office door close. He set the pen down, massaging his aching temples. It was so fucking hot in his office. He turned the fan up another notch, feeling it cold against his back.  
  
He took another mouthful of coffee, cold and bitter. He grimaced, recognizing it as the cup he had been drinking when Paige had phoned. He'd lost his appetite for coffee shortly after he'd finished talking to her.  
  
Feeling like he did now, Ben wished that he had stayed on the coffee. He walked over to the pot, freshly made, promising a diversion from his aching head and twisting guts. He glanced at the cork board, hanging on his office wall.  
  
"What the fuck?" Feeling cold dread start to replace his hangover. He hunted through the notice board, jerking down reports and descriptions, sending paper and pins onto the floor, some of them caught by the draft of the fan.  
  
"Shit, no." Coffee forgotten, reports clutched in his hand, Ben lurched towards his desk.  
  
"Why didn't you change the plates on this one?"  
  
"Misdirection." She glanced over her shoulder, making sure that the Nixon's streets were still quiet. "If the police find this one, they'll think that's all we had. They wont look too hard for any others." She winked at him. "Trust me."  
  
One more day. Just one more day and she'd be gone from here forever.  
  
Nicholas manoeuvred the car into position. "Here okay?"  
  
"Just about perfect." She got out of the passenger side. "Make sure you lock your door." She adjusted her sunglasses, waiting on Nicholas. They walked swiftly away from the car.  
  
They still had one more to position.  
  
"Are you ready sweetie?" Paige lifted Rose into the air, listening to her laugh, as her daughter stretched her tiny arms towards the sun. "Will we go for a walk? Will we go see Daddy?"  
  
Rose laughed, stretching out a hand to try and catch hold of Paige's hair. She moved her head away. "Don't do that, sweetie." Paige carried Rose over to the stroller and strapped her in. "Come on Rose."  
  
"Lets go see Daddy."  
  
Michelle had hardly slept, yet she felt better, fresher than she had at any time since she arrived in Nixon. She even felt rested, as if she had had a nights unbroken sleep, something she had rarely managed since the nuclear threat.  
  
She had spent the night talking to Tony.  
  
Just talking about stupid things, whatever happened to come into their heads. Things they had never managed to talk about in LA Every time she had tried to end the conversation, to let them both get some sleep, he'd said something else that had kept them talking, kept the conversation going.  
  
It wasn't the first time she had watched the sun come up with him. But it definitely beat the shit out of the first time.  
  
He had helped her deal with a few things, issues he hadn't even known about. Helped her push her guilt and her demons from LA away. Had even helped her push aside her guilt about everything that had happened since she arrived in Nixon.  
  
Tony loved her. Believed in her. Trusted her.  
  
The phone rang. She picked it up, still lost in her thoughts and daydreams. "Hello?"  
  
"Ms Dessler, please hold for a phone call."  
  
"Okay." She waited for the telltale clicks. "Hello?" She couldn't stop herself smiling. Maybe it was Tony...  
  
"Hello Michelle."  
  
The smile died quickly on her face. "Ben."  
  
His voice was cold, calm professional. Even his accent was clipped, bitter. Everything that Tony's voice hadn't been when he spoke to her. "We've got a problem."  
  
She took a breath, making sure her professional mask was in place while she waited for him to continue.  
  
"We've had about half a dozen GTAs since the explosion that killed McGarrity. Four in the last 24 hours."  
  
"How many do you normally have?"  
  
Ben's laugh was sharp and bitter. "Not that many."  
  
"Loughlin's behind this." She noticed her had become as detached, as business like as his was. "She must be planning a second strike, it's too much of a coincidence to be anything else."  
  
"I know. Couple of them were stolen last night." He coughed hurriedly and rushed on. "But where's the target, Michelle? There's not exactly a hell of a lot here."  
  
She knew the answer, knew with cold clear, dreadful certainty what the target would be. "Main Street, Ben. Loughlin's going to hit Main Street."  
  
"Main Street?" Michelle could hear him struggling with the concept. "But..."  
  
"Everything flows through it, Ben. It's the only place in Nixon she can pick that's big enough to make an impact." She unlocked the drawer in the bedside table and pulled her phone and gun out of it.  
  
"What should I do?"  
  
She nearly dropped the phone at how broken Ben Franklin sounded, how weak, like all the strength and will had been drained from him by the threat against his town. She wondered if she had ever sounded like that. "Close off Main Street." She checked the magazine and action on her gun. "I'll be there as soon as I can."  
  
Main Street was quiet by the time she arrived. She could see people clustered around a car, a powerful Ford sedan, caged off by police tape, and a number of white shirted deputies, trying to hold back the growing crowds.  
  
She saw Ben Franklin, doing his best to direct operations and started to walk towards him.  
  
A white shirted arm snaked in front of her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm going to have to ask you to step back."  
  
Was it her imagination, or did the deputy smirk as he spoke?  
  
"Lucas?" Ben had recovered some of his poise and control. "Let her through." Lucas took another look at her, and moved his arm away. She could hear the crowd murmuring as she walked towards the Sheriff.  
  
Ben managed to smile at her. "We found it." He pointed at the car. "Stolen from outside Proudstag Bar late last night." He pointed at the rear wheel on the driver's side. "And it has a device on the wheel arch."  
  
Michelle hunkered down to look at the device. Knowing that Franklin's eyes were on her. She nodded to herself, recognizing Loughlin's handiwork.  
  
"Can you disarm it?"  
  
She ignored him. "Get those people away from here!"  
  
Ben turned and signalled one of the deputies. Slowly they began to disperse the crowd, driving them up Main Street, away from the car. "Michelle. I need to know. Can you disarm it?"  
  
She slung her bag from her shoulder and pulled out her cell phone. "Maybe. I need you to make a phone call for me."  
  
There were police all over Nixon's Main Street. Forming a security cordon around the car, parked at the bottom end of the street.  
  
Michael Hunte knew a security alert when he saw one. And he knew that the only thing in Nixon that could provoke an alert like this was Sinead Loughlin.  
  
So where was she?  
  
Hunte took a look around, careful to use the increasingly curious crowd to conceal himself. If he closed his eyes, if he imagined the wind and the rain, instead of the constant baking sun, he could almost be back home.  
  
He found her more by luck than design, strains of a familiar accent drifting the through the silence of a town bracing itself.  
  
He let some people drift past him, keeping them between him and Loughlin, then followed after them. His fingers curled into fists as he followed, and he kept repeating Baillie's instructions. Knowing that there was more at stake than just his revenge, than justice for Brian, that there were bigger scalps to be taken.  
  
God help him, he wanted to finish this, to finish her.  
  
They walked away from Main Street. Setting a slow, disinterested pace that made him grind his teeth in frustration. He watched her reach into her pocket and pull out a small device, which she handed to Nicholas. They shook hands and separated.  
  
Hunte pounded his fist against his thigh and decided to follow Loughlin. "Finish what you start, Michael" he mouthed to himself. He tightened his grip on his gun.  
  
His phone rang, startling him. Forcing him to back away even further.  
  
"Hello? Yeah, speaking."  
  
She wondered where everybody was. Main Street was unusually quiet, deserted. Paige made a face at Rose over the handle of the stroller, smiling as Rose laughed, clapping her hands together.  
  
She kept walking down the street, seeing a crowd of people drifting, slowly, reluctantly towards them. Other than that, though, Main Street was almost empty of people.  
  
Lots of cars, though.  
  
"Mr Hunte, I'm Sheriff Ben Franklin. I'm here with Michelle Dessler."  
  
"What can I do for you Sheriff?"  
  
"We've found a bomb that we think was planted by Sinead Loughlin. I've asked Michelle to disable it, but she wants you to help with it."  
  
"I'm a little busy at the minute, Sheriff." Ben could hear his breathing increase down the speaker. "But I'll help if I can."  
  
Ben glanced at Michelle, carefully unscrewing the covering on the bomb. He walked over to the car, where two of his deputies watched anxiously as Michelle worked. "I'll just pass you over to her."  
  
He heard Hunte bark "No!" at the same time as Michelle shook her head.  
  
"She's going to need both hands free, Sheriff. You're going to have to pass my instructions on."  
  
"Okay." He moved closer, his eyes flicking between Michelle and the exposed bomb.  
  
"How many wires are there?"  
  
Ben relayed the question, listening as Hunte's breathing got harsher, as his voice dipped in and out of range of the microphone. He watched Michelle carefully separate out of the wires and hold up three fingers.  
  
"Tell him there's three, Ben. Red, green and yellow. I think I need to cut the red one."  
  
Ben opened his mouth to speak, but Hunte interrupted him. "Tell her to cut the red wire."  
  
He looked around the deserted side street. Grinning as he imagined the crowds and carnage on Main Street.  
  
He pulled out the trigger and pushed the button.  
  
His phone pressed against his ear, Hunte watched Loughlin slow her pace. He smiled, listening as Franklin, excitement and relief chasing each other through his voice, describing that the clock on the bomb had stopped. He reached around to the small of his back, putting his hand back on the butt of his gun.  
  
He watched Loughlin pull a trigger from her pocket and press the button.  
  
"Ben! There's another bomb!"  
  
Ben spun around, the phone falling from his nerveless grasp, clattering on the ground.  
  
Looking back up Main Street  
  
....As a Jeep exploded outside the Sheriff's Office, echoed terrifyingly from the top of Main Street. 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:-  
  
How could this have happened again? How could he have let his town down again?  
  
His radio flared to life as Ben ran back up Main Street, dimly aware of the sounds, the smells of the aftermath, of Michelle and two of his deputies following after him.  
  
"Sheriff? Sheriff are you there?"  
  
"I'm here, Vince, go ahead?"  
  
"What the hell's going on, Sheriff? I got people dead and dyin' up here. Whole place is in a goddamn mess."  
  
"You got casualties up there? How? Aren't you on Roosevelt?"  
  
"Roger that Sheriff. Blue SUV exploded on the corner of Roosevelt and Main." Somehow reporting the details seemed to have brought Vince back under control. "What do you want me to do Sheriff?"  
  
"Just give me a second, will ya Vince? We got a situation on Main Street as well." He clicked the radio off, staring at Michelle, staring through Michelle. "There was another device."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Top of Main Street." Ben ran his hand across his face. His stomach lurched again and he started to cough, dry rasping hacks tearing at the back of his throat. He hunkered down, breathing deeply through his mouth. Trying to find control from somewhere.  
  
"Oh Jesus." Michelle covered her mouth with her hand. Thinking of the people she had asked Ben to send up Main Street. "Oh Jesus."  
  
Vince's voice broke through their thoughts. "Sorry Sheriff, but things are gettin' hard to handle up here. I need some help."  
  
Even over the radio, Ben Franklin could hear the screams.  
  
Or where they just an echo of the screams on Main Street?  
  
"Sheriff?"  
  
He ignored Vince's panicked voice. "I have to go. I have to be there." He stared at the wreckage, at the ruins of Main Street. "Vince is a good man, a good cop, but he's not up to this." He made no move to go. "What the hell am I going to do?"  
  
The screams grew louder, the flames burning hotter and brighter.  
  
"Ben."  
  
Michelle's voice, cool, calm, professional, cut through his panic, giving him back his control, his balance. She could deal with this, could help him deal with this. She would know what to do.  
  
"What do I do Michelle?"  
  
She put her hand on his arm, pulling him to his feet. "You have to be seen to be in charge, Ben. Go to the top of Main Street, take control." She looked around. "Is there a hall or a church nearby?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You got a lot of wounded here, Ben." So many wounded. "We need somewhere we can treat them. Is there anyplace nearby we can use?"  
  
Ben thought for a second. "Lincoln Memorial Church. We can use the hall there."  
  
"Okay, I'll get things set up. Send the wounded down there. I can treat the minor injuries at least. That'll free the hospitals up a little." At least that way she could do something to help.  
  
Every time she thought she had dealt with her guilt her memories something happened to fling a match on the embers.  
  
"I'll send Roe with you." He nodded at a young deputy, staring open mouthed at the chaos. "Don't think he's going to be much use to me."  
  
"Thanks." Michelle started to turn away, then stopped. "Good luck Ben."  
  
She could hear his breathing as he got close to her. Could smell his aftershave and his sweat. She almost smiled.  
  
"I was expecting you before now Michael."  
  
"What have you done?"  
  
Her laugh was bitter. "I don't know Michael." She ran her hand through her hair. "God help me Michael, I don't know what I've done." She closed her eyes, remembering. She could almost feel the cold wind, the rain against her face.  
  
It was then that Sinead Loughlin realized she was crying.  
  
"Do you still miss him?"  
  
"Do you still see his face?"  
  
"Of course I do."  
  
"Yes. Every night, before I sleep."  
  
"He was just a child."  
  
"Just a boy."  
  
"He had nothing to do with anything."  
  
"He just wanted to play football with his friends." Hunte was crying as ell, his voice shaking with his grief. "For God's sake, Sinead, he just wanted to play football. He didn't deserve to die like that!"  
  
"What about Niall, Michael?"  
  
She turned around to face him, hands curled into fists. Lost in her memories, remembering her brother, how he looked the last time she had seen him alive.  
  
"What did he do to deserve that, Michael? To deserve what you did to him?"  
  
She flinched as memories of his body flood through her head.  
  
"What did he do to deserve to die like that?"  
  
There were so many wounded.  
  
"I need to talk to the Sheriff!"  
  
Michelle sighed, checking the crude bandage she had wrapped around the man's wrist. He had the same glazed expression on his face, the same glazed expression as everyone else she had treated.  
  
She was doing everything she could, but she knew it would never be enough.  
  
Her words echoed through her head. "Get those people out of here!"  
  
She had been so sure that she had done the right thing. So certain and yet she had been wrong again. And once again, other people had had to bare the consequences of her decisions.  
  
"Where's Ben? Lady, I need to talk to the Sheriff!"  
  
Michelle blew a strand of curly hair out of her face. She stripped off her gloves, throwing them onto the increasing pile in the centre of the hall. At least supplies and help had arrived before Ben had sent down the first of the wounded.  
  
Where was he?  
  
"Lady, I don't know who you are, but I do know that you sure as shit aint no deputy. Where is the Sheriff?"  
  
"I don't know, sir." She pointed at the steady stream of injured people arriving behind him. "But we got a lot of people that have been hurt here, so I just need you to move on."  
  
A steady stream of injured. And these were just the ones that hadn't been too badly hurt.  
  
She tried not to think about the ones that had been seriously injured.  
  
Michelle rubbed at her temples. Her headache was back with renewed ferocity, along with all the other aches and pains she thought she had banished.  
  
Ben Franklin walked into the Lincoln Memorial Hall/  
  
The man ignored her, bounding to his feet with a spryness that belied both his age and the amount of complaining he had done about his injuries. He ran across the hall. "Sheriff!"  
  
Michelle followed after him. She needed to talk to Ben as well. She needed to know. Needed to know how many people she had helped get killed.  
  
Ben stopped just inside the door. "What is it Aeron?" One of his deputies, his white shirt stained with blood, came across and handed him a bottle of water. Ben glanced at Michelle and gave her the bottle. She opened it taking a cooling drink. "Things are kind of fucked up at the moment. I don't really have time to listen to you complain."  
  
He coughed and Michelle quickly handed him back the bottle, knowing how raw his throat would be. He managed to smile in gratitude.  
  
Aeron drew himself up, maintaining his dignity, despite the bandage on his arm and the dirt and dust streaked across his face and clothes. "I'm so sorry Ben."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I saw her." Aeron was weeping now, the teats winding clean patches down his cheeks. "God help me, Sheriff, I saw her just before the thing exploded."  
  
"Saw who?"  
  
"Paige. I saw Paige and Rose outside your office, just before..." Aeron broke off, unable to continue.  
  
Michelle watched the water bottle fall from Ben Franklin's hand in slow motion.  
  
"I did my job Sinead."  
  
They were circling each other now, looking for a weakness, an opening.  
  
"He was just a boy, Michael." She paused to spit at his feet. "You're no different from me." Sinead laughed, taking delight in seeing the blood drain from his face. "You're nothing but a killer. A killer with a badge."  
  
"You killed my son."  
  
"You shot my brother. Shot him and left him to die."  
  
"You killed my son."  
  
"I didn't mean to! He was a casualty of war. You shot Niall in cold blood."  
  
He pointed his gun at her with a shaking hand. She grinned at him, her hands creeping around her back. Reaching for her own weapon, hidden at the small of her back."  
  
She had always known that it would come to this.  
  
Two sharp retorts rang out in the early Nevada morning.  
  
"...of explosions in Nixon, Nevada...."  
  
"....fatalities...."  
  
"....second attack on the town in a matter of days..."  
  
"...no group has yet claimed responsibility for either of these attacks, the first of which claimed the life of Charles H McGarrity..."  
  
It had worked beautifully.  
  
Nicholas watched the emergency services struggle to cope with both attacks. Watched the town struggle to cope with a second assault.  
  
Everything, the alliance, the risk, the insult of working with someone who supported the enemy, everything, it had all been worthwhile.  
  
He looked around the side street and threw the trigger away, wiping his hands on his light trousers. He walked down Memorial, away from the scene. Listening to the agony he had helped to inflict.  
  
"They should hear what we have to suffer, and all the world does is bleat about how unfairly those bastards are treated."  
  
He took another look around, wondering where Sinead was.  
  
"Probably long gone from here." He shrugged. "Like I should be." Suddenly he panicked. What if she had been arrested? What if she was doing a deal to keep herself out of prison?  
  
What if she threatened the entire alliance?  
  
Then he saw them.  
  
Two of Nixon's deputies, their white shirts, still bright underneath the unforgiving sun, despite the dirt and the dust on the them. Nicholas had seen the expression on their faces before. Back home, under similar circumstances.  
  
One of the deputies took a step towards him, stumbling with pain and exhaustion.  
  
Nicholas took one look at them, at the badges on their shirts, at the weapons by their sides.  
  
Then he turned and ran.  
  
He was standing alone outside when Michelle found him. His back to the church hall, head bowed, smoking a cigarette. His clothes were dirty, stained with smoke, sweat and blood. Idly she picked at her own clothing, wondering how dirty she looked.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Ben looked around, his hands shaking. He tried to smile and gestured with the cigarette. "I haven't smoked in over a year."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. I stopped when Paige found out she was...." His voice trailed away and his smile faded. He took another drag from the cigarette and dropped it to the ground, grinding it viciously beneath his boot. "Has there been any word?"  
  
"Nothing yet, but there's more people coming in all the time..."  
  
"That's bullshit Michelle. You don't believe that any more than I do."  
  
He was right, she hung her head. "I'm sorry Ben."  
  
"You know what gets me? The last time I talked to her, Michelle, I lied to her. She asked me where I had gone and I was with you and I LIED TO HER." He turned towards her, talking a step in her direction, his fists clenched.  
  
She backed away from him, giving herself room to move, room to use her agility. "That's not fair, Ben. I didn't ask you to come to my room, I didn't ask you to kiss me and I sure as hell didn't ask you to lie to your wife."  
  
"Sheriff? Sheriff you there?"  
  
Still glaring at her, Ben snatched the microphone from his shirt. "I'm here, Reid. What's happening?"  
  
"Am in pursuit of male suspect, late twenties, Caucasian, dark haired. He's not a local, Sheriff. I've never seen him before and he sure took off in a hurry."  
  
"That sounds like Nicholas."  
  
Ben nodded in agreement. "Where are you Reid?"  
  
"On Memorial."  
  
"On my way." He switched the radio off and pulled his gun from its holster. "Come on."  
  
Michelle dialled Michael's number as she ran after Ben, holding her gun, ready in her other hand.  
  
Listening to his phone ring. 


	11. Chapter 11

Once again, thank you to everybody who's read and reviewed. I think there's only about a couple of chapters left (maybe only one and an epilogue), so let me know what you think...  
  
Chapter Eleven  
  
All she could concentrate on was the pain.  
  
He had shot her. Shot her in the same way, in the same place, as he had shot Niall, all those years before. She smiled. Her lips pulling back in a pain filled grimace. He'd probably used the same gun. At least her mother wouldn't have to watch another child die. At least she had gotten some justice for her brother, for her family.  
  
Maybe she had gotten some peace for herself as well.  
  
She had shot Michael Hunte, had seen him fall, just before his own bullet had burnt through her flesh.  
  
Sinead took another step along the deserted street in Nixon, wincing as each stumbling step moved the bullet lodged inside her. She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling her shirt stiff and tacky. She took her hand away, the fingers stained red with her own blood.  
  
She was so thirsty.  
  
"It never comes off, you know."  
  
She looked around the street, hair wiping across her cheeks. She recognized the voice. How could she not? She heard it every night before she slept. "Niall?"  
  
"He got you pretty good." Niall lifted his shirt, revealing a bullet wound at the top of his stomach. "Not as good as he got me, though." He poked at the wound with a stubby finger, dirt still lodged underneath his fingernails.  
  
Sinead shuddered and look away. She pressed her hand back against her shirt. The bleeding had stopped, her shirt sticking to the wound. She took another lurching step, acutely conscious of Niall following after her. She licked her dry lips. She didn't mind the pain. Welcomed it, even, it gave her something to focus on.  
  
"How many people did you kill today, Sinead?"  
  
She managed to shake her head. "It doesn't matter, Niall. None of it matters."  
  
"Doesn't matter?" He laughed, a strange gurgling sound that seemed to tear through her, reverberate off the bullet. "How can it not matter, Sinead? All those fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, their lives ruined by this, by you! How can that not matter?"  
  
She could taste the dust in the back of her throat. Taste dust and bile.  
  
Sinead managed to focus on Niall. "It doesn't matter. He's dead, Niall and that's all that matters. It's all that ever mattered."  
  
Gritting her teeth, she stumbled towards her hotel.  
  
It was cooler in the side streets.  
  
Shaded from the early morning sun, cooler, easier to run. Easier to believe that they could catch the people responsible for the carnage.  
  
Weariness forgotten, adrenalin flowing through her veins, Michelle followed Ben's lead through Nixon's side streets. She could hear bursts of communications from other deputies involved in the pursuit, driving them faster.  
  
They couldn't escape the terrible silence coming from Main Street, though, no matter how fast they ran.  
  
They skidded to a halt at an intersection, the streets tangling across each other. Michelle bit her lip in frustration while Ben paced around the crossroads  
  
"Any answer from Michael?"  
  
"No. I've been trying him since we left." She looked at the phone and tucked it away. Michael couldn't help them now. She looked around the maze of small narrow streets. "Which way, Ben?"  
  
Ben opened his mouth to reply, but his radio beat him to it. "Sheriff!" Reid took several deep breaths, his gulps for air clearly audible across the radio. "He's about to turn onto Little Market."  
  
Ben smiled, an angry, hungry smile....  
  
...a smile she had seen before, on the face of Jack Bauer...  
  
"This way." He turned left and broke into a run, holding his gun high, his finger already on the trigger.  
  
Michelle followed after him, her heart heavy. They needed Nicholas alive. Needed him to lead them, lead Michael to Sinead Loughlin. They couldn't afford Ben to lose control. They needed Nicholas alive.  
  
She couldn't afford to let Ben Franklin lose control.  
  
They were difficult to shake off.  
  
Ignoring the burning in his lungs, the ache in his muscles, Nicholas summoned what strength he had left. Pushing his body as hard as he could.  
  
He glanced over his shoulder. Hoping to see the dirty white shirts disappearing into the distance behind him.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
They were still there. Clinging to his tail with limpet like determination.  
  
He saw a turn off and veered sharply down it, pushing off the wall to try and get some more speed. He glanced back over his shoulder as he ran. "Fuck."  
  
They were still following him.  
  
The phone stopped ringing. Leaving him in silence.  
  
He could hear his breathing, echoing through his body. Every breath seeming to come a little weaker, a little shallower.  
  
He was dying. He could feel the blood leaking from his stomach.  
  
The bitch had done for him, just like she'd done for Brian.  
  
At least he'd got her.  
  
He heard footsteps coming towards him. Moving with slow, deliberate strides. It couldn't be Loughlin, he'd got her. Could it be Nicholas? Come back to make sure? To finish him off?  
  
Michael remembered his gun falling as he did. He tried to reach for it, patting blindly on the rough ground until the agony made him stop.  
  
The footsteps drew closer.  
  
He squinted up at them, trying to see despite the bright sun shining down into his eyes.  
  
His features relaxed and he tried to smile. "Brian?"  
  
Some sixth sense, some instinct, something ingrained in him by....made Nicholas duck as he turned the corner, still running at full speed, still hearing his pursuers gain on him.  
  
He ducked under Ben's blow. Slipping through the attempted grapple, almost losing his footing, his knee banging painfully on the pavement.  
  
Ben grabbed at Nicholas ankle. His fingers slipped, jarring against the sole of the man's boot. Then the boot collided against his chest, driving the wind from him. He stumbled to the ground, seeing Paige's killer, seeing Rose's killer disappearing, slipping through his grasp, in a haze of tears.  
  
Nicholas scrambled to his feet. Not looking back, straining his muscles to try and push clear.  
  
Michelle stepped from the mouth of one of the side streets, pointing her gun at him. "Stop! Don't fucking move asshole!" The gun aimed at his chest.  
  
She wondered if she would shoot him. There, on Nixon's streets.  
  
Nicholas gritted his teeth and ran at her. She was smaller than he was, exhausted and in shock. He didn't risk another look over his shoulder. All of his attention was focused on her. If he could just get her gun...  
  
Michelle saw his plans, saw him turn towards her, his intentions painted across his face. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, her whole body responding to her brains commands. She measured him up and fired.  
  
She shot him in the knee.  
  
Nicholas staggered, incomprehension and pain racing each other comically across his features. He took another step, almost falling as he put his weight on his shattered knee cap.  
  
He looked around in time to catch the butt of Ben's pistol across the side of his face. He collapsed.  
  
Ben stood over the body for a moment, breathing heavily. Just staring down at it, his gun in hand.  
  
Then he holstered his weapon and reached for his handcuffs.  
  
Michelle released the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.  
  
Ben worked quickly, rolling Nicholas onto his stomach, handcuffing him. Two more deputies arrived, guns in hand, breathing heavily.  
  
"Where do you want him Sheriff?"  
  
Ben opened his mouth to tell them to take him to the office. Then he remembered. He shut his mouth, shrugged and glanced at Michelle.  
  
"Take him to the hall."  
  
The two deputies pulled Nicholas to his feet, grunting and cursing as they had to take most of his weight.  
  
Ben and Michelle followed after them.  
  
The pain was getting worse. Taking over her body and her brain.  
  
She fumbled with her keys, trying to open the hotel door, drawing what little strength she had left. She had to lean against it to force it open. Trying to ignore the smear of blood she had left on the previously pristine door.  
  
Somehow she made it to a chair. Sinking into it, exhausted. Sinead just wanted to rest, close her eyes, sleep. Then she knew she would see Niall again. Then she could explain...  
  
Her eyes flared open and she gripped the arms of the chair. Forcing herself to her feet, Sinead fell towards the mini bar.  
  
He could hear the footsteps closer to him. Examining him. He tried to will himself to open his eyes. But his body wouldn't respond to his commands. He concentrated on listening.  
  
"I've got another one, here No, doesn't look like he was caught in the explosion."  
  
'I wasn't' he tried to say. 'That bitch shot me' he tried to say.  
  
"He looks like he's been shot."  
  
Lincoln Memorial Hall had fallen silent when they had brought Nicholas in, handcuffed and bleeding, stumbling with every step. They had cuffed him to a table near the back of the hall. Making him watch them struggle to treat the wounded.  
  
He watched impassively, staring across the room. No emotion showed in his deep set eyes, nothing flickered in his face.  
  
Impassive.  
  
Arrogant.  
  
"I want to go over there and beat the living shit out of him." Vince knotted his fingers together, stretching his arms out. "By the time I'd finished with him, he'd be begging to tell us everything."  
  
Michelle shook her head. "Wouldn't do any good. He's got military training, he's not going to break like that." As she spoke she studied the prisoner, trying to find something that would help Ben get the information he needed.  
  
Ben remained silent. Leaning against the wall, his eyes rapidly scanning the crowd in Lincoln Memorial Hall. He straightened with expectation every time the door opened, before slumping back against the wall in defeat.  
  
Vince sneered at Michelle and stalked across the hall. He deliberately choose a path which brought him close to Nicholas, looming as large as he could.  
  
Nicholas didn't flinch. Didn't even look at him.  
  
"I can't do this."  
  
Ben's words were so softly spoken that Michelle doubted that she had heard them. She looked at him, his eyes now fixed on Nicholas, hatred twisting his features.  
  
"I can't do this."  
  
"Ben, you have to! You're..."  
  
"I can't Michelle. I can't talk to him. That bastard..." He swallowed hard, around the lump in his throat, his eyes swelling with unshed tears. Begging her, pleading with her. His lips moved but no sound came out.  
  
She could read them easily enough, though. 'Please.'  
  
She nodded. "Okay. I'll talk to him." She walked across the hall, Ben's hatred and anger following her like a physical entity. She pulled out a chair and sat down.  
  
She was starting to hate Nicholas as well.  
  
He actually smirked when he saw her. "You again! I've been trying to work out who you are. I know you aren't with them." He nodded in Ben's direction.  
  
"No, I'm not. My name's Michelle. I'm a counter terrorist agent."  
  
"Well, Michelle, you're wasting your time here. I'm no terrorist."  
  
She laughed, trying to shake his pride and composure. "Really? What are you then? A freedom fighter?"  
  
"I'm a soldier. Prepared to kill or be killed for my country."  
  
"No, you're not. You're a murderer, a terrorist, Nicholas. Sixteen dead in the first attack. We're still counting the cost of the second. That's a lot of innocent people. That's a lot of time in jail."  
  
He shrugged. "That's the price of war."  
  
But he wouldn't meet her eyes.  
  
"Where is she Nicholas?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Sinead Loughlin."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"We know you were working with her. We know she was training you." She leaned a little closer to him, resting her arms on the table. "You want to be the only one that takes the blame for this? Co-operate, tell me where I can find Loughlin..." She shrugged, letting the words trail away.  
  
"It's an honour to die, serving my country."  
  
His voice wavered, and his eyes flicked a look at her, then slid away. He couldn't look at her, couldn't look at the victims. She wondered who he saw in their place.  
  
Wondered what button she had to push to break him.  
  
"You wont die serving your country." She spoke softly, underneath the whispers and moans. She leaned closer, letting him read her words as well as hear them. "You'll not die as a soldier. You'll die as a terrorist."  
  
Main Street was still in chaos. Vehicles and rubble still strewn across the road.  
  
There were still bodies as well. Waiting to be dug from the rubble.  
  
Carefully, rescue workers lifted another piece of rubble, part of the twisted remains of what was once John Mendolaza's jeep.  
  
"Fuck." The fireman turned around and raised his voice. "Lucas? Lucas, you'd better get over here."  
  
Lucas arrived at a run. He looked down at what they had uncovered. "Fuck." He sighed heavily. "Somebody had better tell Ben."  
  
He looked down at the stroller, overturned, dirty and blasted. At the small body lying crumpled, almost cut in two by the force of the explosion.  
  
At the burned but still recognizable features of Paige Franklin, her broken hands still reaching out uselessly for her baby. 


	12. Chapter 12

This is it, the last chapter, so please read and review....  
  
Chapter Twelve  
  
Michelle leaned back in her chair. Letting him talk.  
  
"It wasn't supposed to be this way. Things were supposed to be neat, clean." Nicholas forced himself to look around the hall, still stinking of sweat, blood and death. "We were just trying to send a message. The only person that was supposed to get hurt was McGarrity."  
  
"Why him?" She knew why. She just wanted to keep Nicholas' confession on track.  
  
"He's developed a sympathy for the opposition. Campaigning for Palestinian rights, for members of the Army to be put on trial for breaching their human rights. Putting pressure on politicians to change their views." His lip curled in a sneer. "How the hell did he get elected?"  
  
"How did you meet Loughlin? How does she fit in?"  
  
"She showed me how to do it, trained me. I was supposed to learn from her, help teach the rest of us."  
  
"Where did you meet her?"  
  
"Here." He smiled, his features edged with bitterness and pride. "I won't sell out my countrymen, Ms Dessler." His eyes flicked around the hall again. "But this, all of this is her fault."  
  
"How?"  
  
Did she really want to know? Did she really want to hear how she'd played into the hands of a terrorist?  
  
"She set a trap." His smile twisted, growing harder. "It was a beauty. She let you find a car, and set two more devices, further up Main Street." His voice softened with admiration. "She knew exactly what you would do." He twisted the knife a little further. "And you did exactly what she said you would."  
  
Michelle took a moment to compose herself, trying to ignore his jibes. "But it was Loughlin's plan? She planned the attacks?"  
  
"She did."  
  
"Where can I find her?  
  
He stared at her for a moment, waves of pain washing across his face as he flexed his injured knee. She met his gaze, allowing herself a smile at the expression on his face.  
  
Nicholas looked away. "Hunting Lodge Hotel. Room 13."  
  
"Thank you." She stood up and walked back across the hall towards Ben, smiling. Soon Loughlin would be in custody and maybe then, Nixon could grieve and rebuild.  
  
Her smile faded when she saw an ashen faced Lucas walk into the hall and over to Ben Franklin.  
  
She watched Ben fight to hold himself upright, hold himself together. Fight against his hope.  
  
"Just try and relax sir." The deep male voice spoke soothingly in his ear, trying to reassure him. "You've been shot, just relax and let us do our job." He heard the man move and then speak again, the voice softer, further away. "Better give him something to calm him down."  
  
"No, no please, please call..."  
  
"Sir, you have to let us do our job." The voice faded out of focus again. "On my count...one...two...three."  
  
He felt the bed beneath him rise, shaking slightly with the motion. Michael summoned what remained of his strength and grabbed at the voice's arm.  
  
He felt the voice leaning over him. "What is it sir?"  
  
"Call...Michelle...Dessler." Michael felt every word, torn from him, splattered and stained with blood. "...in my phone...tell her..."  
  
"We'll do that."  
  
Michael Hunte felt the bed beneath him start to move. He gave way to his agony and passed out.  
  
Lucas stopped in front of him. Taking his hat off, twisting it nervously in front of him. "Sheriff...Ben..."  
  
"What is it Lucas?"  
  
He knew.  
  
"We found them, Sheriff. I'm sorry." Lucas looked away, not wanting to intrude on Ben's grief.  
  
Ben looked at the floor, breathing hard. Michelle saw his hope, his heart, his spirit, wither and die. She saw him wipe his hand across his eyes. He looked up, a vein throbbing in his forehead. His eyes focused on Nicholas, he started across the hall, his fists clenched.  
  
Michelle stepped into his path. "Ben."  
  
"Get out of my way, Michelle." He didn't even look at her, his breathing harsh and rapid. "Just get the fuck out of my way." He tried to push past her."  
  
She stepped back, keeping her body between him and Nicholas. "Ben, don't, please. He's in custody, he's co-operating."  
  
"I don't care, Michelle. That son of a bitch killed my family." He put his hands on her shoulders, started to move her physically out of the way, his fingers gripping her tightly enough to bruise.  
  
"He told me where Loughlin is."  
  
"Where? Where is she Michelle?"  
  
"Hunting Lodge Hotel, Room 13."  
  
Ben Franklin released her shoulders, and turned on his heel. He walked off, tightening his gun belt, calling for his deputies. He didn't smile.  
  
Somehow that frightened her more than his grin had. She shivered, despite the heat in the hall.  
  
Rubbing at her shoulders, Michelle followed after him.  
  
The smell of burnt flesh, of vomit, of booze, filled the room.  
  
Sinead slumped in the chair, facing the door, her shirt ripped open to expose the wound in her stomach. She took another drink of whisky, grimacing as it seared through her throat, then sighing in relief as the pain in her stomach eased.  
  
She continued to talk, gesticulating with her gun.  
  
"It's all his fault. That fucker Hunte. I should have shot him, years ago. Should have killed him..." She took another drink, streams of booze, trickling down her chin onto the ruined shirt.  
  
She looked up suddenly, her eyes focusing.  
  
"I should have killed him after he hurt you. He shot you like an animal, left you in the street." She fought against crying, trying to drown it with another drink.  
  
Niall didn't answer her. Just staring at her. Judging her.  
  
"That's not fair." She grimaced and poured more of the whisky across her stomach, wincing as the alcohol hit her wound. "You didn't see Mammy afterwards. She fell apart. She died with you. Everything became about you."  
  
She pointed the gun at the door.  
  
"This is your fault."  
  
The hotel was quiet, any resident that looked out quickly, quietly waved back inside their rooms. They crept through the halls, weapons out.  
  
They stopped outside Room 13, seeing the smear of blood on the previously pristine door, the mark of a hand print, clearly visible.  
  
How much blood did this woman have on her hands?  
  
Ben took a deep breath and stepped forward. Images of Paige and Rose stumbled through his head. He closed his eyes, trying to blank them out. Later. He could grieve later.  
  
He knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the hallway.  
  
Then silence.  
  
Ben stepped to one side, nodding at the door. Vince holstered his weapon and backed to the opposite side of the corridor. He took a breath, tensed and ran at the door.  
  
He hit it. Hard.  
  
The door gave beneath him, splintering. He stumbled into the room. Trying to catch his balance before he fell on his face.  
  
A single shot rang out through the room.  
  
Vince was thrown back, thin streaks of blood washing across Ben and Michelle as they followed him into Room 13, onto their shirts, mixing with the dirt and sweat and blood already there.  
  
Vince gasped as he lay on the carpet, his shirt already stained red with his blood, the stain growing with every gasping breath he took.  
  
Sinead Loughlin laughed. As Vince screamed in pan, she levelled her gun at them. "Why cant you stay dead? I watched you die once, why cant you stay dead?"  
  
Michelle aimed and fired at her. She heard Ben open fire as well, screaming for his wife and child.  
  
The bullets caught Loughlin in the forehead and chest, the force of their impact knocking the chair over. The whisky bottle dropped with a crash, shattering, the contents seeping out onto the misused carpet.  
  
Ben walked over to the body, looking down at her. He aimed carefully and emptied the rest of his clip into the still twitching corpse.  
  
He holstered his weapon and walked out.  
  
Michelle leaned against the wall, her own pistol held loosely in her hand. Listening to Vince's whimpers of pain, to the other deputy's breathless reports on the radio, to Reid, being sick in the corner.  
  
She looked around the room and smiled bitterly.  
  
Some vacation this had been. 


	13. Epilogue

Epilogue  
  
The room was small. Plain. Spartan. He was propped up in bed when she got there, deathly pale, seemingly asleep. He looked around, though at her careful tread across the floor.  
  
"Hey Michael." She held up the flowers she had brought. "I thought these might give the place some colour."  
  
"Thanks Michelle." He struggled to sit up, sweating and gasping in pain. He looked at her, trying to form the words, but too out of breath to speak.  
  
"We got her."  
  
"Is she...?"  
  
"Dead? Yes. Ben Franklin and I shot her." She started to arrange the flowers in the vase, staring out of the window.  
  
"You're leaving aren't you?" She looked at him in shock and he laughed, though it swiftly turned into a cough. When he could breathe again, he continued. "You look different. So, when are you going?"  
  
She looked back out of the window. "After the funerals."  
  
The sight of Rose's coffin broke him.  
  
He had cried when they brought Paige's out. But he had pulled himself together. Reminded himself that he was still the Sheriff and he still had a job to do.  
  
That she was looking down on him, and he could not let her down.  
  
And he had been strong, and he had been brave. He had shaken every hand, taken every condolence. He had even started to think that he might get through the day.  
  
Until the time had come to bury his daughter.  
  
Michelle found him, sitting on the ground, facing the graves, a bottle of wine and a packet of cigarettes by his side.  
  
He didn't look round. "Hey Michelle."  
  
Her dress rustled as she sat next to him, her eyes hidden by her sunglasses. "Hey Ben. How are you holding up?  
  
"Do you know how many people have asked me that today?" He took another drink. "I have my crutches." He passed the bottle to her. "I did love her you know. Loved her with all my heart and soul."  
  
"I know."  
  
"You've come to say goodbye, haven't you?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm going back to L.A." She took a mouthful of wine and handed the bottle back to him. "There's some people I've got to see."  
  
"I've just buried my wife and child. Now I'm losin' you as well. Hell of a fuckin' day."  
  
She ignored him and stood up. Walked over to the graves and laid a bouquet of flowers on each one. Then she walked towards her car.  
  
She was almost at it when he spoke again.  
  
"Goodbye Michelle."  
  
"Goodbye Ben."  
  
Michelle drove back through the same scenery that had held her spellbound, scenery that she had made plans to see with Tony.  
  
Scenery that she wouldn't care if she never saw again.  
  
She drove through the night. Pressing her car as hard as she could.  
  
Wanting, needing to get home.  
  
Wanting, needing Tony. Wanting, needing Tony to put his arms around her, to kiss her.  
  
Wanting, needing his embrace, his kiss to drive away the memory of coffins in the Nevada sun.  
  
She drove on through the night towards L.A.  
  
The End  
  
And that's it. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. I know that the formatting has been a bit of a pain, but I couldn't get quick edit to work for me, so I'm sorry about that as well. Any questions? Queries? Comments?  
  
Well, thank you all again for reading and reviewing, especially anybody that reviewed more than one chapter. You guys made checking my emails extra fun!  
  
Hope you enjoyed the story. Bluenose 


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